


That's all

by Nemamka



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU collection, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Alternate Universe - Theater, Alternate Universe - Theatre, American setting, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballet, Blow Jobs, Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Breakdance, Communication, Crying, Crying Katsuki Yuuri, Crying Victor Nikiforov, Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Detroit, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Eros Katsuki Yuuri, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Bar, Hand Jobs, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Impostor Syndrome, Light Angst, M/M, Makkachin Lives, Memes, Miscommunication, Pain, Party, Performance Art, Pining, References to Canon, References to anxiety, Relationship Study, Semi-Public Sex, Slight possessive behavior, Smut, Swearing, Switching, Teacher Victor Nikiforov, Teacher-Student Relationship, Theater AU, Top Katsuki Yuuri, Training, Unreliable Narrator, a collection of aus, building relationships, references to violence, the real antagonist is their anxiety, tiny POV changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-19 02:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20323522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemamka/pseuds/Nemamka
Summary: Comfort zones are tricky.Maybe we’re not the kind who need to push ourselves out.Maybe it’s about letting someone in.A truly random AU oneshot based on a vague idea about a city I’ve never been to but a videogame brought out all these vibes. (No, no androids, actually. Sorry?)Explicit with focus on the feels. I hope :3++ Warning for slight OOCness?? They are a little bit americanized in this AU, but overall still very much themselves, at least I tried. Thank you if you give this a chance!





	That's all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [metalkiralylany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalkiralylany/gifts).

> Soundtrack available on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/nemamka/playlist/64NrOUDtLgvmYDLXu7seCU?si=axlbLXz5Q3i0ydYpp3wIEQ) (recommended) and [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrVXTb8pbxyi6PEuPSrwYpcRHA4vo4Q2x).  
My best bet is - start at the beginning and then put it on shuffle :)  
Enjoy!
> 
> Happy birthday, Luna ~

He spins, he floats, he holds out freezes from time to time. He cancels, he swipes, and there comes a flare. The triple coin drop is a real treat for his one relentless partner, Gravity. Secretly, he’s always laughing at her with the flow of the music because he knows her challenging pull like the back of his hand on the ground; she’s strong, like a lover who wants to keep him all to herself. Every day they meet for a dance, every day they play pretend that she’s let him go and that he’s happy to be free. In those long moments it’s like the world doesn’t even exist.

Except for the fact that he’s doing this _ for _ the world. Well, that’s a bit of a lie, no, more like a paradox, you see, when the world has fucked you over, there isn’t much you would actively do for it, but… _ because _ the world has fucked him over, he needs some help. And where else could he turn? 

Hence he’s carved out a small corner for himself, a tiny place where it doesn’t matter who he is, only what he does. And what he does is _ entertain _. 

So he keeps spinning, hopping, holding out fours - he could do it all with his eyes closed, but that’s become a consciously timed part of his performances by now, reserved for those who stay long enough, in hope that the amount of time they spend watching him will somehow result in them giving more tips. His other hat is set out for that exact reason. 

He takes off the one on his head, wipes off all the sweat from his brows with one practiced, unnoticeable move, the smooth operator, and bows. Show’s over for today. He receives some half-hearted applause from the little gathering already on their way, and goes for his weathered gym bag to fish out his water bottle, leaving a little extra time for people to decide whether or not his moves were worthy of a coin. 

Some have undoubtedly thought so, that is clear from the way the hat jingles when someone shakes it. 

Wait, what? 

The last rays of the day’s sunset sneak around the tree leaves in the quiet park, a breeze brings the smell of freshly cut grass and kisses all the places where his skin is wet. The evening quietly settles in as he’s standing there alone, _ almost _alone, conflicted. That someone - a tall, slender guy also wearing a beanie - is holding his money. 

Well, that’s a bit of a lie, too. 

It’s not his money, it never has been. It’s charity, the kind he loathes to ask for and doesn’t deserve, the kind he has fought hard - still is - to accept, because he shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t have fucked up with… 

But he needs to eat. He needs to give at least something back to his best friend for putting him up. He needs to do _ something _with his time. It’s not exactly useful but it brings a smile or two on kids’ faces. 

_ Almost _alone, confused, sore and hungry from Gravity’s embrace he wants to yell at the man but nothing comes out. How do you demand something you have no right to possess? Instead he swallows, lets the bottle fall back into his bag from his hand, and takes a step forward. Just as he opens his mouth, the other holds out the hat for him to take. 

“Hello.” A greeting, a smile, an act of kindness. A pair of blue eyes too bright, that makes one wonder. 

“Um. Hi. Thanks,” he says as he reaches out, tentatively, then quickly snatches what means his bread and butter, and finally tears his gaze away. 

He doesn’t check the money, he doesn’t put on any more layers to avoid a cold. He zips the bag and leaves, back turned on the stranger. 

“Hey!” 

What the fuck. 

“_Hey! _ Rude boy! Wait!” 

The guy, god knows why after declaring he’s _ rude_, catches up to him on the paved little route across the park and falls in with his pace. He keeps looking ahead and slows down, hoping to gain some time to get rid of… whoever this is. He can’t have any more _ drama _follow him home. 

“Hey, yeah, um…. uh, sorry, I need to…” What to do, what to do, what to do… 

“You _ need _ to let me say something!” 

He stops and sighs, loud, as he faces his inevitable fate. 

“What.” 

Blue Eyes - hm, there is a speck of green in them - searches his face, hesitant for a moment, yet the decision to proceed with his original plan audible in the deep breath he takes, his smile triumphant over the cold welcome once again. 

“You were amazing out there!” 

“That’s all?” he hears himself say, his need to be away from people surmounting any and all emotions, any and all appropriate reaction he could or should have to a compliment like that. 

“That’s... “ 

Blue Eyes looks… affronted now, honestly, all rightfully so, he won’t deny it; he hasn’t been _ acting _awesome as of the last five minutes, but he just wants to get away from here, away from the situation and some random guy touching his stuff and running after him and saying nice things he’s not worthy of, away from hurting another person by just trying to survive for another day. 

He bites his lips as if it could stop him from blurting out things he doesn’t mean, and turns away. Well it’s happened now, hasn’t it? He’s done it again, great job. Another face falls, another pair of eyes, ocean blue this time, loses the spark of interest. 

“No, actually.” 

His head snaps back towards his company so fast that if his neck hadn’t been warmed up, it would have cracked. He struggles to calm himself, at least to a point where he doesn’t send this poor soul to hell just because he can’t handle human interaction. 

“Will I see you again?” 

Solemn, but there is some unbreakable confidence in the figure in front of him. Like a man on a mission, just assessing the possibilities for a new approach. 

Birds chirp nearby, the wind reminds him once more that he’s actually filthy, and his bag is uncomfortably weighing on one shoulder, absentmindedly thrown on there, hurried and unusual. 

He has no idea how to feel about all of that. 

“I… I’ll come out again tomorrow.” 

“Great!” The answer is too fast, the smile is too big; he could swear the other man is angry at him for some reason, which is… ridiculous, even if he was rude. They don’t know each other, he might not have welcomed the praise very well, but he doesn’t owe anybody anything, goddamnit. “See you then,” he gets waved off, and finally, Blue Eyes walks away first, in the other direction. 

The automatic street lamps turn on and he shivers. 

  
  
  
  
  


Well, there was a bit of a lie back there. 

He does go out to dance again; only to a different street, then a different park, then yet another square, deviating from his home spot each day for a while. He has lived long enough in Detroit to know what kind of spectacle is appreciated and where; he has been sent away, to put it mildly, from enough corners to know which neighborhoods despise beggars of any sort. Then there comes a week of rain, the worst part of it all, really; it's not that subways are a bad stage or less frequented, it's just that he doesn't like to be there underground. He always gets more claustrophobic, his energy is always more drained, not by the weather but by how frustrated and fidgety people can get, setting and spreading moodiness, as if they needed to be in any bigger hurry, as if they needed to be anybody more important than when they hide behind sunglasses. 

When he's not performing, though, he does everything he can to make himself invisible in his temporary home. He cleans, does the laundry, washes the dishes, goes to the post office, signs for orders his friend made; he keeps his stuff neat (well, he doesn't have much, so that's not hard), ventilates the rooms, waters the plants. House chores aren't really his favorite activities, but all of these have become a rigorous habit only out of anxiety to not be a burden. On the other hand, he likes cooking; it's nice to know he can make a life easier by just preparing food for a person for when he gets home at the end of the day. Also, looking out for hamsters is fun. 

When the sun comes out again that month, he absentmindedly wanders back to the nearest park. It's a fresh morning, families and goers-by step to his hat from time to time, he hears a fair amount of clinks and ruffles; it's a good day. He’s already putting away his little music box and is ready to leave, but somebody is still clapping. Some tall guy in a beanie. 

… Oh. 

Shit. Has he been there all along? 

Awkward. 

“Hi, Houdini.” A greeting, a smile, an annoyed remark on him having gone awol. 

He wants to say something in his defense, he really does, but all he can focus on is avoiding eye contact at all costs and finding a way to casually run away. Like hell. 

He shoves his hands in his pockets and chews on the insides of his mouth. 

Ah, fuck it. 

“Hi. Um. What's up.” 

“You changed your choreo.” 

The topic of where he's been is dropped, as it seems. Good. He’s still convinced he has nothing to explain. But that comment makes his brows draw together. 

“It's improv. I change it every time I dance.” 

He can't hide a smile when the blue eyes widen in shock. He puts his bag on, slowly and with thought to it this time, adjusting the strap like he has all the time in the world while his company says nothing. He hovers. 

“So. Did you want something?” 

“Oh, yeah, about that,” Blue Eyes shakes his head a little as if just now coming to his senses. “Do you feel like coffee?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Where is this going? Why would he go for coffee with a stranger? Why now? Does he _ look _ like he has time or money for going on a… for making friends? 

His inside battle goes on unseen and for a second he's blinded by an ear-to-ear grin. 

“I'd just like to get to know you, that's all!”

Blue Eyes walks up to him, closer than he would prefer, but he's frozen in place; he feels his frown deepen, slipping dangerously close to saying something rude again, but he cannot relax any muscle in his face or body. 

“Uh, _ why_?!” 

He earns a chuckle with that question, as if it were unreasonable or silly. It is _ not_, thank you very much. It sure looks like his self-doubt has found its match, though. Blue Eyes doubts him just as much. 

“_Come on _ now. Because you’re… I think you’re cool, you dance cool, that interests me, so it would be nice to sit down and have a chat. If you want.” 

He takes a deep breath to let all that sink in. It doesn’t, but… what the hell. He’s had a nice day, it’s still kind of early, he hasn’t really broken that much of a sweat yet, and it’s not like he’s _ busy_… heck. And those blue eyes. They are pretty. He’s been looking. 

“Coffee?” 

“Or anything you’d like.” 

“Okay.” 

“Really?” 

Oh, isn’t that great, when people voice your own thoughts holding you back. He’s already grabbing the edge of his comfort zone with his knuckles white, don’t push him back now! 

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s go before I change my mind.” 

“Awesome!” 

Blue Eyes is _ beaming_. As if his freaking day’s just been made. What the fuck. They start walking headed for the square nearby - and then suddenly Blue Eyes stops.

“Oh, I’m an idiot.” 

He turns back and sees a hand held out towards him like on the first day they met, but it’s empty this time. Expectant all the same. 

“What’s your name?” 

That’s not exactly how an introduction works, but the situation is weird enough for him anyway. He yanks his right glove off in a hurry, then takes the hand - it’s a bit colder and bigger than his, and somehow, somehow the touch of the long fingers engulfing his own sends a wave of warmth up his skin, allowing him to relax his shoulders just a bit. It’s okay, Blue Eyes is _ real_; he’s safe. For now. 

“My name is Yuuri.” 

“Y_uu_ri.” Accented, of course, but close enough, and that’s alright. Yuuri wonders why his hand is being held for such long seconds, but, unfathomably, he’s also okay with that. Then there comes something he’s been anticipating for a long time, but hasn’t even admitted it to himself. He watches as if it were some once in a lifetime event. 

The other hand reaches for the beanie, pulls it off from framing the blue eyes. 

A fringe of silver hair falls over them. 

“Nice to meet you.” A greeting, a smile, a wink. A fucking _ wink_. “I’m Viktor.” 

  
  
  
  
  


They sit down on the lip of a fountain, coffee cups placed between them as catalysts of communication. The sound of water calms Yuuri down, however far it is in comparison with the ocean waves in his hometown. The sun is still up, but not warm enough anymore; he puts on a sweater and pulls the sleeves up to his elbows. He knows he's being watched, even if his company tries (did he even try?) to hide it taking a sip of his latte, and yes, he's self-conscious about it, performance artist or not. 

Viktor is sitting with his body completely and casually facing Yuuri, one foot pulled up to the groin, knee hanging over the water. He licks his lips (yeah, Yuuri’s not hiding the glimpses either, but only because he's horrible at that). 

“So I'm gonna take a wild guess - asking you about street dance is taboo, right?” 

Yuuri drinks and they both know he needs the moment to prepare an answer. He counts a few coins on the marble floor of the fountain, some shinier than others. Viktor doesn't push further. He shrugs. A strange numbness rests on his nerves; it doesn't matter if he shares his life story or not. He's been hurting himself with it bad enough, nobody can top that. 

“After school, I messed up an audition. Theater didn't hire me, so I'm living that unemployed life until I find something else.” 

“Mm.” Viktor nods, like he truly understands and has no problem with Yuuri's life choices. “So it _ was _ a wild guess. You keep surprising me.” 

“Funny,” Yuuri scoffs. “I've known you for five minutes.” 

“See, that makes it even more remarkable!” 

It's weird. It's weird to sit there with a handsome man, it's weird to keep wondering whether he's flirting or just friendly, but then again, Yuuri's not stupid and he knows what _ coffee _ means. He's been approached by a few people before, and he lives in the society of memes and short flings. He just hasn't decided what he wants yet. Well, that's a bit of a lie. He blushes at his next thought and lets it slide as if it were due to the flattery, takes another gulp of his hot brew as Viktor does the same. 

“And you?” 

“Would you believe I'm a high school Physics teacher?” 

“Um, yeah? Why wouldn't I?” 

“Ah, it's an old joke. Everybody says I'm too pretty for that, like I should be a model or a figure skater or something.” 

“Well, they're not wrong.” 

Yuuri blurts that out like it's nothing, and for a second he's so scared he feels like he could roll over and drown himself in the shallow ripples; and yet when his gaze meets Viktor’s, he doesn't even blink. He's not going to die, he can do this. Holy shit he's doing this. He's… 

Viktor looks away first, chuckling like a teenager, and his cheeks! His cheeks get rosy as if the cool wind has kissed them, but the air is still today, still like Yuuri's heart for a moment, because oh my god what is happening. 

“Thank you,” Viktor smiles and before he drinks he makes a tiny movement with his head as if he were impressed by what he's just heard. 

Yuuri is freaking out on the inside, but the fact that he survived that gives him a thrill that has nothing to do with caffeine. 

“I _ did _ use to do ballet,” Viktor goes on. 

“Really?” The surprise kicks Yuuri further into excitement. “Where?”

“Minako’s.” 

“No way.”

“What, you know her?”

“Yes! I’ve been going to her classes since I was twelve!” 

It’s intense, this sudden desire to wrap up the mystery; could they have met? Have they seen each other before? Is this fate, not a coincidence? Yuuri grabs the promise of meaning with iron claws… 

“Ah. You must have joined after I stopped.” 

“Why did you?” 

… and fuck, there's the drop. Viktor's smile saddens into a polite one and the icy flash of his eyes feel like a slap of a brick wall. Slower now, kinder, you stupid bastard. You're the shy one, remember? 

“Injury,” Viktor says simply, resting a hand on the knee he didn't bend. He still elaborates, “It healed all the way with time - a lot of it - but it caused too much trouble for my family, so I gave up the serious athlete life and studied instead.” 

He lets him in. Yuuri started off nonchalant, like it didn't matter, but it does. It feels good. He hasn't talked this much to a person… at least for months. The conversation hasn't been long but Yuuri feels trusted and worthy of someone’s story. He doesn’t miss his glasses, his fingertips are tingling with warmth - he feels _ present_, brimming with his own history, memories of an actual life that once headed somewhere greater overflowing again, and he's glad for sharing that piece of nostalgia. It's been too long since he last dared to care about his past, his recent past that made him miserable and into a nameless vagrant and it’s sad… It’s sad that there’s another person with lost dreams, but they’re sitting there as familiar strangers, and for the first time in a long time he can breathe lighter. 

And with it comes the heavy realization, an admission that stirs the air filling his lungs: he wants this. More of this.

“Mm,” Viktor finishes his cup after a frowny check of his wristwatch and for an excruciating moment Yuuri thinks they’re done for. Over, fast as lightning. But before he blinks twice, Viktor goes on. “I actually have to run now but… Can I get your number?” 

Please. 

  
  
  
  
  


It only takes hours. 

Viktor sits back in the classroom to grade tests while the kids he supervises write another but his eyes follow different lines. His phone takes throne on the pile of papers in front of him as the frequent messages don’t even let the backlighting dim for two minutes straight - the sound and vibration are off, though, of course. It’s school and he has to set an example. Even if it’s childish of him to pretend.

Yuuri’s room, on the other hand, is filled with little chimes as the answers flood in. He’s researching music, inspiration for new rhythms to dance to, or maybe even themed programs - not an entirely conscious decision, but unmistakably fueled by some _ very _recent meeting. Except that he only has ears for the notifications. It’s ridiculous and desperate. It’s childish but he can’t pretend.

It takes a few hours, only a few hours, though, of texting, _ well_, of lip-biting and deleting twice as much as they ever send, of re-reading the other’s words (_almost _ interrupted by some one-handed sandwich making here, and some half-blind public transport ride there), of giggling and changing sitting positions as if they were reading the best adventure novel they’ve ever touched, written live, writing itself, interwoven with existential crises caused by the most banal questions like favorite colour or food. 

Takes a few hours, but Viktor finally asks. 

_ wanna come over tonight? _

Then just sends the exact Google street view hyperlink of his whereabouts. 

_ Please. _

  
  
  
  
  


That’s how Yuuri ends up in Viktor’s flat, and Viktor in Yuuri’s personal space real quick. If they’re honest, and they’re not yet sure if they want to be, this is the most obvious “visit” ever. 

The apartment might be very neat all around but this time Yuuri only really gets to discover the bedroom. One king sized bed takes most of the space, but all other furniture is minimalistic enough so the room doesn’t look crammed. Standing there, only in his jeans, fumbling with the buttons on Viktor’s fine white shirt, Yuuri questions what the hell he of all people is doing here, Viktor could have an equally handsome boyfriend, or someone, anyone rich, really… But when the fabric slides and lets show of a slender torso and soft-wide shoulders like marble, he thinks, this. This man ran after me, then invited me into his home. I’ll take it. 

Viktor touches him first. Yuuri doesn’t look in his eyes, he watches the movement instead, as Viktor runs a palm, big and warm, up his chest, right until he can feel long fingers tangle in his hair at the back of his neck, and then Viktor leans in....

“Shit, you’re nervous. Not excited nervous, just… nervous.” 

His thumb caresses Yuuri’s cheek, and he looks up. Blue Eyes. Very observant. They make him realize he’s been holding his breath, and despite all his conviction about _ doing this_, he just went… rigid there for a second. 

“Look, we don’t have to…” 

“No, no…” Viktor is very kind, but… shit, that just makes him even hotter. Yuuri sighs. “I’m just. Nervous because maybe I’m too excited about this, but I don’t want you to think I’m desperate because that’s embarrassing, and… um.” 

Whether the fact that he managed to say that out loud or that it made Viktor smile is a bigger surprise, will be a mystery for centuries.

“Well, that’s the best news!” Viktor rests his hands on his shoulders, never putting any more distance between them. It’s the weirdest thing. That he’s not mad or bored or confused. That he’s so close.

“Why?” 

“Because that makes two of us. I’m just as nervous as you are.” 

What.

“Sounds… fake, but okay.” 

There’s something in the way Viktor’s smile widens just a hair’s width more, together with the sudden, playful spark in his eyes that make Yuuri’s blood sink, and he just has to gulp. 

“Well, then.” Viktor gently takes his chin and makes sure to open his lips with just his fingertip. “My job is to show you something real.” 

He turns Yuuri’s head, plants a kiss behind his ear, more along his neck as if he could calm - or entice? yes, definitely - his raging pulse pounding underneath his skin. He spoils his collarbone as if he’s taken a particular liking to it, and to a lick at his nipple, Yuuri shivers as if he’s never experienced such a thing. Well, not in this company, anyway. He’s so distracted he can only respond with absentminded little touches on Viktor’s arms, and there’s really not much else to ground himself with when the man in front of him gets down on his knees. 

“Hey, what are you…” Viktor’s already pulled his zipper down when he catches his wrists. “You don’t have to…” 

“You don’t want me to?” 

Yuuri's staring down at him and it's hard to process. Viktor hovers; he's let go of the hem of Yuuri’s pants, holding his palms up as if surrendering. He's giving him all the chances to change his mind. 

What the fuck. He's… on his knees, about to suck Yuuri's dick, how on earth can he look so angelic? How can his face be so innocent, how can he look so eager for _ any _answer Yuuri’s about to give? 

Blue Eyes. Warm. Welcoming. Committed. 

“I... I’d be lying if I said that.” 

As Yuuri timidly lets go of his hands, Viktor smiles, and keeps their eye contact steady while he slips the denim off of Yuuri’s butt. 

“Good, honesty is key.” 

It would have been difficult to deny even with his pants on; Yuuri is hopelessly hard, so blatant and quick it seems like only his briefs are holding him together. And now Viktor is pulling them off, slowly; he plants a kiss below his navel as he does it, chin and hot breath brushing against sensitive skin, and Yuuri feels like he’s battling all five elements on the inside. His only anchor is Viktor’s shoulders. 

“Wellokayso I need to tell you...” 

All his leg muscles go tense with a touch of Viktor’s wet lips on his shaft. Viktor grounds and soothes him by holding his hip with one hand, and destroys him by holding his base with the other. He looks up, and he _ licks up_, unabashed, unfazed. 

“Yes?” he says, Yuuri’s gasp almost louder. 

“Uh, I… I won’t last thirty seconds.” 

Yuuri almost has the audacity, but not the blood, to blush, here, now, in this _ situation _and all; yet Viktor, Viktor just beams. Like he’s having the time of his life. What the fuck. 

“Come on, it’s okay.” His voice is soft and low. It caresses Yuuri like his actual palm on his body, into thrill and into comfort at the same time. His heart races, probably to resolve the paradox. Possibly to his end. “The worst that can happen is that you come more than once tonight.” 

  
  
  
  
  


He’s walking home after - after assuring Viktor that he’ll be okay, it’s not that late and he knows Detroit like the back of his hand, after seemingly surprising him with the fact that he wasn’t going to stay the night, after a quick shower that wasn’t nearly as satisfactory as Viktor’s embrace, after having his ass delicately pounded into bone-melting bliss. 

The night is quiet, the air gentle like some encounters that only last for a minute. 

Yuuri’s content as he fumbles with his keys on the porch. They’ll never see each other again. Life goes on, right? For the best. 

  
  
  
  
  


_ you feel like coffee? _

What. 

He’s packed up, gear and hat half-full of coins in his bag, phone in hand, unlocked and unusually lit up with notifications. It’s after a particularly long evening dance that he sees the message; it’s actually the last one, following a few others - and a few hours apart - like how was your weekend, guess what my student said today, and a picture of a poodle. Introduced as his dog, but the garden in the background definitely not attached to his 9th floor flat. 

Cute.

Well… except there must be a bit of a lie. This is a booty call, why the hell is he trying so hard. 

_ not tonight, sorry _

Viktor is available and typing immediately. Uh god. 

_ well no I didn’t mean today, just you know  
_ _if you feel like meeting again_

What the fuck. 

_ make it thursday? _

…

_ kay great! _

  
  
  
  
  


And then Yuuri just… goes. Guard up, pride forgotten, clothes off, he decides to afford the luxury of Viktor’s touch because Viktor keeps giving, and giving, handsomely giving, so insistently kind, it’s almost naive. Yuuri banishes the thought of who’s using whom, each time it resurfaces. He doesn’t think of how much less he has to offer, be it physically, financially, or mentally. He doesn’t question Viktor’s life choices, he doesn’t lament over what this, whatever this is that they’re doing, makes him be. He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he _ can’t _. 

Not in those thirty, sixty, or hundred-and-fifty minutes, anyway. Oh, because, yes, his visits become, though irregular, frequent, but he always leaves before midnight, a self-appointed Cinderella. And yet they keep chatting online as if they were any other kind of _ buddies_. He knows the color of Makkachin’s favorite pillow to sleep on, and Viktor has tried to pronounce Mari’s most used swear words in Japanese. 

“Are you?” 

Yuuri looks up at his friend over dinner. 

“Friends, I mean.” 

Phichit’s favorite radio channel is on, the volume low as they talk. The kitchen is well-lit, they sit face to face as if at an interrogation, at least for one of them it surely feels like one. Phichit dips another one of Yuuri’s home cooked fries into ketchup and waits for the answer. 

But Yuuri doesn’t have an answer. If he had one, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. He’s only finally spilled the beans after a few weeks because accepting Viktor’s invitations has never gotten any easier, no matter how honest, they’ve always seemed like a dream. Like glimpses at something good out of somebody else’s life, like images from a parallel universe he’s got to tap into, but are not truly his own experience. Like Viktor’s touch or his smile are meant for the person standing behind him, but if Yuuri keeps checking over his shoulder, he will also miss out on this much. 

“I mean… you just talked about him for five minutes strai… _ gay_, but like… like you don’t feel a thing. Yet somehow I know that you do. Is that weird?” 

“I’m weird,” Yuuri buries his face in his hands, sighing. His friend laughs, and he knows he doesn’t deserve any more sympathy right now. Or ever. 

“Promise to introduce him, though.” Phichit stands and collects their empty plates. “If this gets… any more serious.” 

“It won’t.” 

  
  
  
  
  


_ you busy tomorrow? _

He hits send, his stomach churning as if he were spinning on his head after downing three bowls of his mother’s katsudon. 

_ no :) _

  
  
  
  
  


“Y_uu_ri.” 

A morning greeting, a smile is audible in the tender voice calling him. He takes a deep breath, smells coffee and something nice, something faintly peachy and floral - actually, it’s always in his nose nowadays. A gentle hand pats his shoulder, another brushes his hair away from his eyes, just as he fails to open them. 

“Yuuri, wake up.” 

“Mmm. No.” 

It’s _ so _comfy. Forget it. 

The sweet voice chuckles, then it’s quickly suppressed. 

“Yuuri… please? I think you should get up.” 

“_Why_.” 

“Well… it’s a school day, and I…” 

He shoots up as if lightning struck him, his entire body shaking, yet numb. What the hell is he doing! 

Half-conscious, blind with panic, he throws off the blankets and scoots to the edge of the bed, so snappy that his legs nearly cramp. Nothing is comfortable anymore, nothing is warm, though he’s sweating. 

“Fuck, shit, sorry…” 

Viktor, who apparently has been squatting next to his pillow, now stands up, watching him scurry and stumble for his socks and pants. 

“Hey, it’s okay…! We have time, I made breakfast... 

“No, it’s… fuck...” Yuuri doesn’t even see what he’s doing, he just knows - this belt needs to be fastened, that shirt needs to come over his head, he needs to be _ out of here, now_. What an idiot to have fallen asleep. “It’s fine, I need to go…” 

“You misunderstand!”, he thinks he hears Viktor say as he runs to the hall. “I don’t mean to throw you out…” 

“No I get it, anyway I gotta...” 

He leaps to his shoes, steps in them with little care for the laces, grabs his bag from where he left it on the floor and he’s already reaching for the front doorknob. 

“_Y_uu_ri_.” 

He swallows, not much of a help to his dry throat, and hovers. The serious tone has him turn back halfway, but he doesn’t dare look at Viktor approaching, only his extended hand. 

“Your glasses.” 

His kindness confuses Yuuri even worse, so he picks up the speed once more; takes the glasses, gets out real quick, just about managing to mumble something like sorry and see you, before he makes a final run for the staircase. 

  
  
  
  
  


He doesn’t see Viktor Nikiforov wince at the sound of the door slamming in behind him. He doesn’t see Viktor Nikiforov put away one of the two plates he prepared. He doesn’t see Viktor Nikiforov drink all the coffee by himself. 

Crispy air fills his lungs when he steps out of the building and finally, he looks around. Nevermind his heart, at least his phone hasn't died. It really is only 7:15, a sight that sickens him now that his mind has space for such mundane things. His first move is muting all his notifications. Then he heads home - to sleep. 

  
  
  
  
  


It really gets frustrating, doesn’t it? By the end of the week, when he’s done with the vacuum cleaner, the laundry’s out and the sheets are all changed, after he’s even reorganized his dresser drawer, that itch that had settled the second day after his not so English exit just won’t subside. He’s eager to reconnect but by god is he afraid. He’s scared out of his wits that his phone might chime, he’s scared out of his wits that it _ doesn’t. _ It hasn’t, since that morning. 

What the fuck.

Wait. 

He up and drops the sewing kit and his half-mended glove that of course had to tear this week.

The notifications, you fucking idiot. 

It sure seems like even Viktor took a few days to assess what happened, but his last message is sitting there, clear as (yester)day. Just the one, not pushing it further. 

_ I’m sorry.   
didn’t mean to scare you off like that. _

Yuuri takes a deep breath. It’s okay, they’re… they might be okay. Wait, _ they_? 

But he doesn’t have time to figure that out right now. He hits the call button right away. 

“Yuuri? Hey!” 

“Hi…” Viktor’s hopeful voice makes his own crack a bit, but he pushes through. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry too, I was… awkward.” 

“Oh, you mean…” A gentle, warm little laugh, the absolute lack of spite. Yuuri sits down on his bed, his legs feel too light to hold him up. “You were _ dramatic_, but it’s fine. I get it.” 

He can’t hold it back, tension is ripped out of him in a bout of laughter. It feels so good, so easing, like quenching some long built-up thirst after a good practice. He drops back on his pillows, letting go, finally relaxing as Viktor joins him in his cheer. But then his tone changes.

“You know what’s not fine? You took my shirt!” 

He’s whining so childishly that it’s impossible to mistake his teasing. Even so, Yuuri’s heart skips a beat for an idea.

“Uh… hold on just a sec.” 

He hangs up and hopes; hopes Viktor won’t think he’s rude and doesn’t toss his phone away immediately, hopes his fingers are fast enough as he holds out his camera at arm’s length. It takes him and his internet connection exactly nine seconds to get the selfie through the app. 

_ you mean this one? _

All Viktor reacts at first is exclamation marks, which perfectly describes Yuuri’s own emotions about impulsively sending pictures of himself. At any rate, he’s glad Viktor can’t hear him anymore, because the noise he makes can honestly only be defined as inhuman:

_ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! _

_ I want it back. _

_ with you in it. _

  
  
  
  
  


Sunday afternoons are funny after sex. 

Or maybe it’s just Yuuri. Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t felt so lazy _ and _ good in a long time, maybe it’s the calming white noise that all the families’ chatter blurs into, maybe it’s the gratefully faint sunshine reflecting from all the little ripples in the fountain that lull him into this content state of mind. Maybe it’s the slow walk in the park and the fresh air that clears his head and tires his body after he had all four walls _ and _Viktor crumble down on him. 

_ And _Viktor. Yes. Sitting next to him on the lip of the fountain. Sipping coffee. Breathing in the peace. Ruffling his hair now and then. Yuuri would bet it’s still a bit wet from the shower. Unusually, though, he’s in no rush to check. To touch. God knows why they didn’t just go their separate ways. God knows why they’d ended up together in the first place on this beautiful day. Yuuri’s too satiated to question it in this little, perfect moment of forever. That’s how much it takes before any of them speaks, cozy just by presence shared.

“Say…” Viktor starts, with his usual serenity that Yuuri hasn’t yet had time to recognize for act or not. “How do you feel about parties?” 

Birds chirp on, there’s not even a breeze to stir the warmth away. 

Yuuri’s only mildly fazed over the thought. He scoffs. 

“I’m really not sure they’re my thing.” 

“Oh.” 

Viktor examines the coins under the shallow water as if he wants to count how many individual people could have thrown them in. Yuuri examines Viktor’s face to take a wild guess at how many masks he’s wearing right now. 

What the fuck. Since when does that bother him so much? 

“Why?” he almost sings, unafraid as Viktor holds his gaze again. 

“I’ve seen you dance. But I wanna dance with you.” 

Man, is he bad at math. 

  
  
  
  
  


Viktor’s place is closer to the venue, so it becomes their base. When Yuuri arrives, Viktor buzzes him in, and tells him to come right up, the door’s open. 

He’s just about ready, tying his tie in the hallway, giving the routine movements every chance to calm his nerves and just focus on excitement. He’s never done this before, has he? He doesn’t know what the two of them are yet, so he cannot call this night a date. Even so, it is the first time they go to a public event just to have fun, arriving together, and possibly leaving together - it _ is _something formal, isn’t it? The least he can do is look his best. His favorite and most expensive suit pants and light pink shirt will surely do. 

His week-long musings are finally cut short as Yuuri steps inside, appearing in the mirror behind him. He wears a smile as greeting, and something... Something else, that makes Viktor’s jaw drop. 

“What the…”, he shakes his head as he turns on his heels and looks Yuuri up and down. “Okay, why do I even try, this is ridiculous.” 

The black skinny jeans are one thing, Viktor can get over that, with much difficulty, but let’s say that he can, because he’s seen those thighs up close. But, and it’s the simplicity that makes it ethereal, Yuuri’s shirt is deep blue, and its entire fabric has a hardly noticeable shimmer to it, almost giving it a purple tint as he moves or breathes. It makes his eyes pop more gold than Viktor’s ever seen them, and with his hair slicked back like that, it’s… he’s… 

“You. are. _ stunning_.” 

He’s blushing, of course he’s blushing, this pure boy. 

“It’s… not mine, I just borrowed it from my friend.” 

“And you’re going to keep it. I’m sure it doesn’t fit him this good.” 

Yuuri laughs, and just for that it’s worth living. 

“You’ve never even seen Phichit.” 

“I don’t want to”, Viktor blurts out as he steps closer, not meaning any harm but losing all his filters quickly. “I don’t want to see any other man again but you.” 

Yuuri audibly gulps, and looks away, his bright smile a punch from all sides. 

“Shut up.” 

“Make me.” 

Silence. 

The hint is so obvious it might as well materialize and scream, but Yuuri doesn’t pick up on it. He visibly shifts his weight, probably polite enough not to take an actual step back. It has to be one of Viktor’s weirdest experiences. After all the time and bodily fluids they’ve shared, you’d think… 

“Uhm… I’ve brought something to drink before we go, if you’re up for it.” 

And with that they move on, Viktor left fascinated. It’s always been easy for him to shift back into motion; so even though he’s eager to find out what Yuuri could be thinking, he doesn’t poke, it’s unnecessary. Yuuri - and his own curiosity - will push him forward anyway. 

  
  
  
  
  


What could they say, the night is a surprise. 

It’s a slow start, but it does start; they look for a corner to sit and drink for a while, and Viktor always stays close to Yuuri, touching his elbow, or the small of his back, whenever there’s too many people they have to get through or around. He keeps him in check and although Yuuri’s anxious, the attention grounds him, more than he’s ever imagined it would. It takes a little time, but their conversation gets sparse as the call of the music gets louder and louder, Yuuri’s feeling it in his bones. The buzz of the party gets under his skin, and when Viktor smiles at him after side-eyeing the dance floor, he gives in and takes his hand. Nevermind the crowd. He knows who he’s dancing for.

He comes alive to the familiar beats, songs they both know, especially when it turns out that Viktor’s got some moves, too. However different the style, the flow takes Yuuri with him just like it does on the streets. Except he feels like he’s cheating Gravity this time; his partner has a pull he truly enjoys, and wouldn’t want to get rid of it for a second. Viktor’s touch has no pretence and it doesn’t seem to cease. He answers his call as if his life depended on it. 

What the fuck. 

Yuuri has to excuse himself to the bathroom when it becomes a little too much. The volume is fine, the lights are fun, and he has enough air, but still… he grows dizzy. Of Viktor. Of himself. 

What is he doing? Why did he agree to come, ugh god. He splashes his face with cold water before the poorly lit mirror, trying to push back a nervous breakdown. What is _ Viktor _ doing. They’re not… their relationship is… _ not _a relationship, Christ. Their bodies shouldn’t be communicating like that unless it’s in the bed. Viktor shouldn’t be looking at him like that unless… well, ever. He’s no one, he should stop kidding himself that this means anything.

The music is so muffled in there that it feels like he’s gone deaf with the numbness. 

But he _ did _bring him here. Viktor… wanted them to have this. That is something formal, isn't it? He asked him out, and called him beautiful. So maybe… that’s what he’s going to be. He’s going to enthrall him like he deserves. He has to find him, now, god bless mood swings. 

He rushes out, takes one look around and - and there he is. 

Viktor is leaning to the wall right next to the bathroom, unusually hidden in the shadows. No matter, his silver hair betrays him; a blessing, honestly, for a hazed mind and eyesight. His face lights up immediately as he sees Yuuri, who leaves all doubts behind in a leap to Viktor and hugs him tight. 

The music hits him loud and clear again, but it doesn’t cancel out the surprised sound Viktor makes. There is no hesitation, though, he puts his arms around Yuuri immediately.

He’s safe. Warm and welcome.

And a little bit confused as to why Viktor’s been in such a wallflowery state. He makes sure to speak close to his ear. 

“You waited for me?” 

“Of course.” 

Viktor steps back to look at him, his hands run all the way down Yuuri’s arms, and he laces their fingers together. 

“You okay?” 

The slow touches are like sparks lit along his skin. The idea settles and it’s impossible to let go. 

“I’m thirsty!” Yuuri shouts over the noise. 

“Let’s go get a drink.” Viktor nods, and starts pulling him by the hand in the bar’s direction. But Yuuri holds his ground firm, making him turn back.

“Not like that.” 

He shivers at his own boldness, but he holds Viktor’s gaze, and waits for him to understand where this is going. He takes a glance and a step back towards the bathroom, gently tugging Viktor along. When his jaw drops again and he shakes his head with a smile, that’s when he knows, he knows. 

“Y_uu_ri…” 

They cram up inside, and Yuuri bolts the door typically heavy with names and hearts and memories carved in it. He’s about to make a good one, too. 

“This is the smallest toilet stall I’ve ever seen,” Viktor remarks, and Yuuri doesn’t skip a beat.

“It’s only about to get smaller.” 

The look in the blue eyes is priceless, the undoing of his buttons paralel to Viktor’s own. His back lines up with the wall so that they have enough space for Yuuri to get down on his knees. 

He starts slow. Savoring the feeling of control, unafraid. It doesn’t matter if they’re heard or caught or whatever, Viktor’s trust and consent are enough of a satisfaction. And maybe he means nothing to Viktor, but right here, right now, Yuuri’s the only one holding him together by his thighs as he’s becoming a mess. Allowing himself to be exposed. Handing himself over gladly for Yuuri’s crazy spontaneous idea of public sex. Nothing, truly nothing is as intoxicating as that. 

Viktor’s breath has become labored by the time the first strangers step into the bathroom. As the door closes behind them, the music from outside is muted again, and clicks of high heeled shoes take its place in their little bubble. Whoever are wearing them continue their little chat, unknowing, probably in front of the mirrors and sinks. Yuuri notices Viktor flinching and putting a fist over his mouth. If he’s honest, and he is, he didn’t even need that sort of provocation to open up his throat. 

The moan that escapes Viktor’s, now cuts all conversation short. 

He doesn't even try anymore. Just braces himself hard against stone and wood. Some pair of heels click closer…

“Hey, you okay in th… oh.”... and they finally see their feet through the little space under the door. “Oh, you’re more than okay, I hope!” 

Yuuri silently, smugly agrees with the deep voice. He secures his grip on Viktor's hips and twirls his tongue, feeding off the loud sighs as rewards, reeling in the fact that even though Viktor might have instictly reacted to stay hidden, his body gives no sign of wanting to leave now. 

“Just a little more time, and he will be,” another voice chimes in.

“We're being rude, let's cheer them on! You're doing amazing, sweetie!”, the third adds, and it's hard to decide whom it addresses. 

“Yeah, don't let us ruin the moment! You suck him good, darling!”

“Squeeze his butt a little! Does he like it gentle?” 

“They sound like gentle boys.”

“Then give him all you got and take his heart!”

“Oh, take his soul!”

Viktor lets out a troubled laugh, in between deep breaths and gulps. Yuuri almost smiles. Almost. But he can't, not right now. He looks up for a long moment and meets the blue eyes; complete and utter surrender reflects from them, because Yuuri eventually does as he's told. His fingers press into Viktor's ass and they both know. They know Yuuri’s about to take every advice he's getting. 

“Hey you, if you can speak… What's your name?”

Yuuri’s not even fazed by the unsure little noise Viktor makes. He smooths a thumb over his skin below his ribs where Viktor's sucking his stomach in, and he lets him decide. If he can. 

“I'm… I'm _ Nick_,” Viktor whimpers. 

“Niiick, hi!,” all the voices greet, as if it's a social event. Yuuri concentrates _ hard _ not to lose it. 

“And who's the lucky one with the mouth full?”

“He's…” Viktor's clearly struggling to find words. Or his mind, for that matter. He swears in Russian and squirms under Yuuri’s caresses. “He's… _ Ross_.”

“That took you a moment,” the deep voice giggles. “I mean…”

“We _ mean _ no shame if you've only just met.”

“Yes, it could be the start of something beautiful!”

“Ooh, was it the eyes? Or did you see him dance?”

“Oh, I bet both!!!”

“Back to business! Put your back into it, Rossie.”

“He's got you. You got this, Nick, _don't_ make him wait for it....”

“Hold his balls now, and pick up the pace.”

“Listen to his body!”

“You're doing great, getting close!”

“Now, hollow your cheeks!” 

“Suck him dry!”

“Ruin him!”

“Like you're in love!”

Yuuri closes his eyes. He disregards the warning pats on his shoulder. All voices leave his head, including his own traitors. One last harsh exhale fills the stall, and he takes it, swallows it all. He sucks until Viktor stops shaking, until his heaving quiets down, until he's drained of cum and energy. 

When it's over, he stands and helps Viktor get presentably dressed again - help meaning he does it for him while Viktor rests his head against the wall and tries to return to his senses - and realizes they are indeed alone. Their guardian angels gone. Whoever they are, they left his heart full of gratitude. 

He lets go of Viktor, staying close enough still. Blue Eyes meet his when he unlatches the door. 

“So about that drink,” he deadpans. Neither of them move. 

Except Viktor's face is so incredulous, it's priceless. 

Yuuri smiles and that's the end, they both fall apart at once. They giggle like children after the most innocent sins, free of burden, of judgment - yet bound, in secret willingness, fast to each other. 

The people are still lively going at it as Viktor pulls him by the hand through groups and past couples. They get a drink at the bar, hearts thumping with the bass boost again, hair and eyes shining in rainbow color lights once more. A slower song comes on when Yuuri remembers. 

“Who's Ross?” 

They're standing elbow to elbow, yet Viktor leans even closer to him, offers his ear. 

“What?”

“Who's Ross? Nick is pretty obvious but…” 

“Oh.” 

Viktor smiles in understanding and acts quick. He pulls out his phone and opens their message window - then puts his arms around Yuuri from he back, and types in front of him, peeking over his shoulder so they can both see. 

_ I didn't want to tell  
_ _our real names… _

Yuuri nods in approval. 

_ so the only thing that came to mind _  
_\- thanks to you - was Eros. _  
_Greek god of passionate love. _  
_guess Ross was all I could manage _   
_from that _

Times like these are when it really baffles Yuuri just how many things the silver locks could hide. One answer from Viktor brings three more questions, none of which is ever the appropriate one to ask next, none of which he can wrap his head around alone and yet there he stands with his silent attempts. 

How is he so considerate not to expose Yuuri, who was the idiot who put them in that situation in the first place? When does he have time to read, how does he know mythology? He does have a lot of books but… why does he associate Yuuri with… with… 

Eros. What the fuck. Eros… 

He's fallen so deep into thinking that when he looks up and around again, he finds Viktor watching the mixer behind the bar, fascinated by his tricks. The tall blond is obviously performing just for his sake; throwing bottles and shakers and catching them behind his back, hardly breaking eye contact with Viktor, his perfect smile and jawline subjects to jealousy, the veins in his uncovered forearms popping as his body juggles alcohol, and his eyes hunt for a flirt. 

Yuuri puts his glass down.   
  


No.   
  


He grabs Viktor's tie and yanks him back close. Their noses line up. 

“You like that?” 

Blue eyes. Wide and curious. Eager. Viktor just waits, excited, doesn't fight him the slightest. Doesn't care about anybody else. Good. 

“Then watch me. And _ only me_.” 

Pretty close, in a corner, there is a little stage. A shiny steel pole in the middle. 

Yuuri goes for it. 

Viktor literally cannot close his mouth until the party's over. 

  
  
  
  
  


The night is quiet, balmy like some goodbyes that don't really last. The taxi is parked on the road, ready to take one of them further away. 

They’re standing at the gate, delaying goodbye. Viktor takes and holds Yuuri’s hand. He's exhausted, and grateful too that Viktor had nothing but respect for his only desire to just come home to Phichit’s after all that. Yet, touch light as feathers, they’re both _ stalling _ and Yuuri’s embarrassed; he has everything to say but too tired and too shy _ now_, which is ridiculous, just like expecting Viktor to break the ice… 

Well, that's a bit of a lie. He _ is _ waiting for Viktor's move. He's done a lot in one night, he deserves a break. 

“Sleep well,” is all he gets. 

He lets their fingers untwine and searches for his keys.

“Stay safe.”

Viktor thanks him with a smile. Cheekier than it's supposed to be, but his eyes could be betraying him at this point. He doesn't watch the car leave. 

Up in his little room, tired out of his mind and flustered, stuck on a vibe he can't put his finger on, with just the gut feeling of something missing, knowing he's just promised himself to chill… he hits send on a stupid message anyway. 

He doesn't see Viktor Nikiforov read it and stumble on a threshold. He doesn't see Viktor Nikiforov drop down on his bed, smitten. He doesn't see Viktor Nikiforov fondly take a screenshot. He and his body give up. He sleeps, and doesn't expect a reply. 

_ shouldve kissed u _

  
  
  
  
  


_ … ehh, no. _

_ *I* should've kissed *you* :’) _

That's how the next day, in the middle of that hungover afternoon, Yuuri drops his phone and breaks a chip off of the cover. 

What the fuck!!! 

  
  
  
  
  


Months roll away, months, and Yuuri has lost count. Of how many times they’ve met, how many streets they’ve walked, how many hours they’ve spent talking, laughing, trying out food that alone they never would have dared. Of how many stories they’ve shared of Yuuri’s funny-drunk father, and Viktor’s impertinent pupils. Of how many times he’s seen Viktor smile, how many times he’s held his hand, how many times they’ve ended up in bed after how many coffees. 

There is just no better way to say it, that’s exactly where they are now, too; he’s on his knees, balls deep inside Viktor Nikiforov who bends over, pillows suffering his tight grip and swallowing his moans - quite unsuccessfully, to Yuuri’s bliss. He’s never felt so hot and greedy, the one hand he keeps on Viktor’s back is soothing him, not the other way around; it’s the first time they have switched and he’s only just begun to learn to trust his own power. He has the most beautiful man he’s ever seen all to himself, and it’s hard to decide whether it’s unreal or the realest he’s ever felt. His mind is a haze and his other hand keeps pulling Viktor’s hips back onto him; he’s losing it, fast. Senses, reason, fears - they all go. The one thing that remains is him, him, _ him_, his voice just maybe, fueling it all with his sighs, Yuuri, Yuuri, _ Yuuri… _

“Yuuri… ah, stop!” 

_ Fuck! _

It takes all his might, but he doesn’t dare to make one more move. His eyes squeeze shut and his toes curl up since he cannot grit his teeth, he’s panting so vehemently for air, for clarity, desperate to ignore the aching throb, halted so close, oh so close to satisfaction.

“Sorry…” he breathes, barely articulate. Sweat beads run down his temple but he chooses this moment to caress away the ones on Viktor’s spine. The stiffness he finds in his muscles leave no more space for anything but sobriety. “Shit, did I… did I hurt you?” 

“God, no,” Viktor groans, and looks back over his shoulder with a grin that almost ruins the moment and the fire in his eyes. “Just wanna make this last a little longer.” 

Yuuri feels like collapsing right then and there, his body experiencing the strangest fusion of relief - relief that has him bend over and rest his forehead between Viktor’s shoulder blades - and tension - tension that keeps him together, actually, helps him hold his hunger at bay and take control once more. 

“Jesus Christ, next time…” He’s interrupted by an anguished moan from under him as he thrusts once again. It vibrates all through Viktor’s body, makes him smile, and recollect his thoughts. “Next time, just… say, slow down, okay?” 

The answer is only high-pitched keening as he drives deeper into Viktor. 

“Stop is a strong word, you know.” 

“You’re right, you’re _ right _ , _ okay _.” 

Viktor is struggling now as the pace is set to this luscious, tender speed, which is taking a toll on both of them, but he doesn’t voice it, he doesn’t complain, he accepts that he’s getting what he asked for. For Yuuri, it’s hard, yes, but somehow he feels at home with this angst. It’s an old friend, really, his body knows it well. And Viktor unabashedly seeking more of him, arching his back so that their skin touches in every possible way, bucking back onto him - is everything he needs. 

And when Viktor is one touch away from his orgasm, Yuuri knows; Viktor comes through his helping fist, whining loud, head dropped between his arms on the bed. But he doesn’t stop moving, this gorgeous, generous boy, no, he keeps straining his thighs upward not to leave all the work to Yuuri, and if perhaps in some parallel universe that wouldn’t be enough to make him crumble, Yuuri remembers the whole night in one big picture. How extremely helpful and understanding Viktor has been, guiding him into his preferences. How willingly he gave, devoted himself to Yuuri. How he seemed to crave it, eagerly leaving Yuuri in charge, trusting his decisions. 

Now he’s the one who pursues Viktor’s warmth; he leans onto him and Viktor supports his weight, steadies himself as Yuuri falls apart, holding him, chest to back a tight fit, and as he comes his moans and quakes are all buried in Viktor’s body. 

Once he’s able to lift his head, he plants a kiss onto Viktor’s shoulder. Untangled they both lie on their back, the mess of the sheets matching their own condition. Feels absurd, but as the delirium blends and fades into exhaustion, and their breathing slows back to normal, just resting there and staring up at the ceiling, Yuuri has to laugh. 

Viktor touches his hand with just a finger. “What is it?” 

“I’m just… glad we can communicate better now.” 

Viktor joins in on his tired giggles. When Yuuri asks if he's okay, he thinks for a second. 

“‘M hungry,” he mumbles, eyes barely open. 

And suddenly, Yuuri’s inspired with a new sense of mission. 

“Be right back.”

He takes the quickest of showers, puts on Viktor's bathrobe that he's been using, then goes back to the bedroom to find its owner as he left him; sprawled out, cooling sticky, and… 

Sunset is bursting in the big windows, bathing his skin in orange. His hair is a peach-glowy mess, baring the calm face. The shadows loan his features sharper edges, his body, deeper curves, and yet he looks soft as a creature of tame fire, a painting only the Sun could ever do justice. Man, is he beautiful. Yuuri drinks it up for just a moment. 

Then sits down at his side, pulls on his arms and makes him sit up, merciless. 

“Get under the water. I'll make something to eat.”

Viktor is awake, no doubt. Sparkling blue eyes look at Yuuri like they can’t believe he's there, like he's a dream, and they search and search for the truth, but it’s only his face they find, after all. 

“Now? You would?” Viktor’s voice is so soft. What the fuck. It's not like he’s being offered a private island. 

“Sure.” Yuuri can only whisper for some reason, so he clears his throat. “Go on, then…!” 

It’s been really easy to find his way around the kitchen, it’s quite simplistic. Looks exactly like no one uses it much, Yuuri thinks every time he walks in, but he doesn’t mind making a little clutter as long as Viktor remains as ready to help clean it up as he usually is. God knows why he enjoys taking wet dishes from Yuuri’s hand one by one to dry them. God knows why he likes his sandwiches so much. 

Those have been Yuuri’s most tranquil memories, and lately he’s noticed that when he gets home (home...?) to Phichit’s, he just keeps stopping in his tracks. There is a double-take at each routine movement; hanging up his keys, putting away groceries, reaching for a mug in the cupboard. They feel strange. It’s not like he’s forgotten that he’s only a guest everywhere he goes; he’s just never imagined the feeling of disconnection would be now caused by… being drawn to something specific. 

And then he shakes himself and takes a deep breath. Gravity drags him back to earth as if he needs a constant, jealous slap of a reminder that this is only temporary. He and Viktor are not… they’re nothing. He’s nothing. But that’s… 

“Traitor.” 

Viktor’s standing in the doorway (his smaller bathrobe stretching on his shoulders); hair still wet, arms crossed and a fake pout on his mouth, eyebrow raised at the fact that Yuuri’s already finished eating. 

“You took your time,” Yuuri pretend-challenges, feeling entitled to a little tongue-in-cheek. 

“Oh _ I’m sorry_, you took…” Viktor frowns a bit as his probably very witty comeback is lost somewhere halfway in thought, but then a coy smile lights up his face. “Well, me.” 

To Yuuri’s own surprise, he has to smirk, and he avoids Viktor’s eyes as he sits down next to him, but that tiny, tiny smugness right now… that feels good. He did _ that_, so… yeah… 

Viktor takes his first bite from the remaining plate and he doesn’t seem even remotely bothered by bumping his entire thigh into Yuuri’s. 

“Wow! As my grandpa would say... Vkusno!” 

  
  
  
  
  


Now, life is not always so peachy, and if he’s honest, and he’s been trying hard to be, Yuuri’s been waiting for that shoe to drop at some point. For the first time in a long time he gets beaten up after an outside session when he tries to get home from the park in the dark. They corner him, take his money - toss his hat back, what a merciful bunch -, kick him in the legs and sides while they remind him that he has nothing to do out here, he’s far, way far from being a real homeless person, he’s stealing all the attention from those in actual need, and, well, fuck. There’s not even a little bit of a lie in there, they are goddamned right. 

He’s an impostor in each and every single aspect of his life and he doesn’t deserve to get away with it. 

He doesn’t deserve six, no, three weeks, no, not even two days of rest to heal. He doesn’t deserve the help Phichit offers with the bruises and everyday tasks to avoid putting strain on the fractures. He doesn’t deserve his mother’s oblivious, loving chit-chat on the phone, and he definitely, definitely doesn’t deserve Viktor Nikiforov’s calls and messages, all of which he’s decided to ignore, then half-explain, or one-word-reply-ghost. He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he _ can’t possibly _miss him so goddamn much, he can’t… 

Every time he reaches this point in thinking, he fights hard against the urge to laugh and cry at once, because both would be hella painful right now, thanks, but more importantly because he can’t fight the obscene truth peeking over his shoulder; this, this longing, this pining… It has nothing to do with Viktor’s body. Well okay, that’s a bit of a lie, you see, his voice, his full-body laughter, the way the light catches his hair after he runs his fingers through it when he’s embarrassed, his soft, reassuring hands when he gives advice are all part of his body but… For the sake of your last two braincells, Yuuri, please stop. Stop wishing. Stop hoping. 

_ :((( Makka really wants to meet you _

Fuck…

So weeks pass and Viktor is relentless. Yuuri knows his excuses not to... _ hang out _ have been weak from the beginning and weaker ever on, he knows he’s lying and that is just simply never fair, so he must give in. He takes a deep breath, shivering into the exhale, and unlocks his phone. 

Viktor picks up on the first ring. 

“Y_uu_ri! Hi, how are you?!” 

_ Yeaah… _How? 

How… how can he even start on that, honestly? 

How on earth did he arrive to the conclusion that a phone call was a good idea when there he is, silently struggling with a huge lump in his throat and… 

“Yuuri? You there?” 

He needs to mute his own mic for a moment just so he can breathe and not alarm Viktor too much with it sounding like a sob.

“Can we meet?” he finally croaks. 

“Yu… Yes. Of course.” 

He can’t see Viktor Nikiforov’s face, but he knows what it’s like when someone is indeed worried, but they tone it down so you don’t feel worse for making them. Thoughtful, as always, that mellow voice goes on on the other end.

“Would you like to come to Yakov’s? Tomorrow’s Sunday, we could...” 

“Today?” 

Desperate and fidgety, he bites his lips on the coarseness he can’t control. His urge to cry strengthens every second, with every kind word Viktor utters instead of cursing him for being... for being. 

“Sure. How about I come pick you up?” 

  
  
  
  
  


The half-hour drive to the suburbs is about as awkward as he imagined, so he’s awfully glad that the painkillers numb him. A carride is not suitable for the inevitable conversation but Viktor doesn’t push. Not as he reminds Yuuri of the seatbelt, not as he changes the radio station, not when waiting an annoyingly long time at a red light, not even as they take two rights and finally pull over to a little house with painted iron fence. 

No, Viktor is casual like he knows… like he… understands. Yuuri catches his side-glimpses but he doesn’t feel judged or scrutinized. It’s still so weird. That he’s not mad or bored or confused. That he’s staying so close.

They walk up to the front door and when Viktor knocks, he’s already smiling wide. He’s anticipated that loud bark from inside. They don’t wait for an answer - he turns the door knob, there’s a flash of brown, and… Yuuri gets decked, dropped hard onto the floor. 

The thud is not enough to mask his pained grunt; he’s actually glad that Makkachin is licking his face, so at least he has an excuse to squirm and scowl, gritting his teeth. Much of the huge poodle’s weight rests really close to _ that _ rib, _ ffffffffuuuck_. 

“Makka! Sorry, Yuuri…” 

The dog is gone - must be really well trained, the random thought crosses his mind - and a big warm hand is already pulling Yuuri up. It’s surprisingly easy to get back onto his feet like that, but he needs to breathe really slow to fight the dizziness and the throb in his side at the same time. Not that he knows what he wants to hide anymore, but of course Viktor catches the reflex protective twitch in his elbow. 

“Yuuri, will you tell me what’s....” 

“VITYA!” 

The old, grumbly yell snaps them out of it. Yuuri looks away and hopes - hopes Viktor caught the apology in his frown, and hopes, arrogantly so, that they can still have a moment together and not the entire afternoon will pass with all four of them involved, truly no offense to the grumpy, balding man who approaches them, still vigorous in his walk. 

“I thought I heard that dog take off like no tomorrow.” 

“Yakov!” 

They shake hands, and, strangely old-fashioned, share kisses on the cheek. It’s actually so endearing to Yuuri that he gives up entirely, letting himself be taken by the emotional roller coaster he’s signed up for today anyway. 

“My godfather,” Viktor introduces.

The old man shakes Yuuri’s hand too, grip firm as it can be, but he withstands, earning a smile. Then Yakov looks at Viktor with a dreadfully mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 

“Is he your boyfriend?” 

Viktor _ freezes_. 

What the fuck. 

Yuuri wouldn’t have thought in a lifetime that he gets to watch Viktor Nikiforov fall speechless, but here they are, for a single, short second the blue eyes burn so, so lost, searching for the truth in Yuuri’s, but it’s only the mirroring stun they find in the end. Somehow, somehow instead of feeling disappointed in Viktor’s hesitation, he finds it oddly, comically gratifying that they’re both clueless idiots in this matter. 

“He’s…” Viktor, the goddamn magician, dons an easy smile again, “His name is Yuuri Katsuki.” 

“Is that so?” Yakov scoffs as if that’s no news to him, but doesn’t elaborate. He’s already halfway back to where he came from. “Now, get in, would ya? Make some tea, Vitya, I’ll be in the garden.” 

Yuuri walks in, timid and uncertain how welcome he truly is, like usual. “Is he… okay?” he whispers, as Viktor closes the door behind him and moves for the kitchen, with steps more confident than in his own flat. 

“Hm?” Viktor glances at the backdoor where Yakov’s left, opening a cupboard. “Oh, he’s fine. It’s just…” 

“You don’t bring many people here.” 

Viktor looks at him over the empty cup he’s holding and slowly, sincerely, nods. Yuuri breathes in slow and deep - they both ease into this fact which is neither positive nor negative, it’s just what life is, it doesn’t have to mean anything deeper than that. They’re here now, and that’s what matters. 

“So what would you like? Fruit? Black? Green?” 

“Gree…”

However, Yuuri opts out of the offer when he, too, catches a glimpse through the screen door of how enormous the garden _ is_. The left border ends in a lake, for crying out loud, so while Yakov tends to his roses on the far right, the two of them end up on the lawn, close to the water, bathing in sunlight. Makkachin takes a seat between them, slowly, lazily like her owner looks on the outside, and Yuuri wonders indeed at the patience Viktor must have had to gather to put up with the silence. 

He hugs his own knees, and Makka worms her furry head to his side, careful as if she knows better now. The warmth turns out to be really helpful, encouraging even. 

“I’m sorry. I got attacked.”

“Why…” Yuuri can hear the soft what the fuck in Viktor’s sigh. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I didn’t talk to you, I didn’t want to tell you, because… I didn’t want to scare you, or make you worry. It was just… embarrassing.” 

“Wow. Why?” Viktor quietly pleads. He starts stroking his dog’s back, brushing her fur and scratching here and there. 

“It… I don’t want people to think I’m weak.” 

Yuuri can see Viktor shaking his head out of the corner of his eye. 

“Nobody should think that you’re weak. Sometimes the worst stuff just… happens to us, but… hey, look here.” 

Yuuri opens up his little cocoon position to put his hand in the offered palm. Blue eyes lock with his. Their fingers intertwine and rest on Makkachin’s steady head. 

“You got your parents. Your friends. And you got me. I’m here, okay?” He involuntarily squeezes Viktor’s hand, and the favor is returned. “If you… well,” Viktor nods in Yakov’s direction with a smile. “The question stands. What would you like me to be to you?” 

His mind jumps a few associations, probably all bad ones, but a weird assumption jerks Yuuri’s spunk back into motion. 

“I just want you to be yourself.” 

Because, duh, of course. How could he ask for anything more - or _ less_? 

Viktor blinks, visibly letting that sink in, then he nods, with a smile so determined as if they’ve just made a deal. 

“Okay. No playing around, then.” 

  
  
  
  
  


Later that night, at Viktor’s place again, Yuuri sits down on the bed as if he’s led there by muscle memory. Even that little trip tired him out, not sure why, since he hasn’t been doing much, not today, not in the last few weeks, so much so that he forgets what he _ should _be doing. You know, with himself, with life, with whatever. He stares out the window at the sky losing its warm colours and he doesn’t even realize where he is until Viktor sits down next to him. They’ve come all this way and they’re resting on the sheets.

What. Wait… 

An apology is ready in his mouth, what was he thinking, he’s in pain, his mind is nonexistent, he can’t… _ offer _anything… 

A warm caress on his arm pulls him back from panic. Okay, maybe it’s him who turns his head too fast. 

“Hey, relax,” Viktor smiles, his voice is also a balm for the soul. Blue eyes look all over Yuuri, kind and concerned. “Rest, if you want.” 

So Yuuri lets go. He flops back on the pillows, pulling up a knee so that his torso is lax. He puts his glasses on the bedside table and rubs at his nose while Viktor scoots closer up to him. 

“Does it still hurt?” 

“A little.” 

“Want me to take your mind off of it?” 

With his eyes closed, and a tentative finger hooking in under the hem of his pants, somehow it sounds funny. Make the pain go away, hah, as if, you see, there was a bit of a lie back there, it still hurts like a bitch. But would he really want to...? 

“You can try.” 

Viktor laughs out loud, and before Yuuri can look up, he gets _ smooched _on the cheek. What the....

“Is that how it is?” Viktor teases at his sass, cheerful, blue eyes sparkling like… like he’s happy, staring down at Yuuri like he’s so glad to have him he could fly. And Yuuri… Yuuri can’t help but smile back. He watches the precious, raw emotion on the young face and just about starts wondering why it’s so rare, when it turns into a devilish smile. “Challenge accepted.” 

And if at any point in time Yuuri knew what being spoilt meant, it is now redefined; and all the meticulous maneuvers when he’s freed of his jeans, all the nuzzly kisses on his skin rid of his shirt, all the caring, trusting touches around his injuries and everywhere else causing goosebumps cannot be enough preparation for when Viktor traces his wet lips down his belly and sighs, with a hot and tickly breath, “I missed you.” 

… What the fuck! 

Why, how, how _ much_, no time to think, to confuse. Viktor removes his briefs and kneels between his thighs, settles down hanging onto Yuuri’s legs, leadup to his downfall; he reminds him to “just breathe,” which is a fucking joke, thank you, especially when someone starts sucking your dick like there’s no tomorrow. Maybe there isn’t, who knows, who cares, Yuuri’s mind really is off of everything, Viktor is making him feel _ so good_, expecting nothing in return, it’s… It’s not funny, it’s very hard to breathe evenly like that… 

_ I missed you, too, _ he wants to say, but he doesn’t, he doesn’t, he ** _can’t_**, _ ah, so goddamn much, I can’t explain and I don’t want to, even though you’d deserve it and I don’t deserve your kindness, your help, you… _

He needs some anchors, needs somewhere to ground himself, squirming really doesn’t help the discomfort, but _ that tongue_... So he clutches the sheets under him, next best thing to air - but the blue eyes are ever so observant, and they won’t have that. Viktor reaches out, not even a single beat of pause in his work; a touch is enough and Yuuri knows what he wants. He grabs his hand and holds on. This, he thinks. This man is here with me, for me, I’ll take it, I’ll hang onto it. 

The tension, the buzz, that one last _ pull _demands all focus and takes it by force. The world could stop turning and it wouldn’t keep him from coming, shaking and shivering, into Viktor’s mouth. He can’t take it all, no, he never could, but he stays with him, stroking and licking right til the end. The swirling, bubbly warmth engulfing Yuuri’s body takes all the edge off for long, long moments. It helps through his heaving until his vision clears, until his muscles stop twitching, until he can control the strain on his flank again, meanwhile he melts into the mattress like a marshmallow in a veil of bliss. 

“You okay?” Viktor asks, and Yuuri has to scoff. A terrible idea, a wince follows. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

The pain returns twofold by the time they’ve both cleaned themselves up. He hasn’t taken anything for hours, of course he would be worse. He puts his underwear back on, annoyed now, only his exhaustion strong enough to push the frustration down. Yet when he gets out of the bathroom, Viktor steps up to him with a cup of green tea. No greeting, just a smile. Two pills in his other hand. 

“Thought you could use this.” 

Yuuri completely deflates at the sight, well, if he’s honest, he almost cries. He thanks Viktor at least five times, takes the painkillers and sits back down on the bed as he drinks. He’s accompanied once again just when all the tea is gone. 

“Stay.” 

He lowers the cup at the sound of that voice breaking. 

Blue eyes. Pleading. 

“Please stay the night. Just... _ just sleep _with me, hm?” 

He’s so stunned by what he’s witnessing that all other possible options escape his head. He hasn’t really done that yet, has he? Staying. Sleeping, together. Like someone who’s welcome the next day, like someone whose face you would like to see when you wake up. Unreal. 

“Y-yeah, okay.” 

“Okay?” No surprise is bigger than all that hope flooding Viktor’s face. “Okay, cool.” 

It really gets weird, doesn’t it? When you have no idea why you’re digging your own grave, you just feel that step by step you’re getting deeper. That’s what it feels like, too. Leaving his clothes on the back of a chair. Having a place for his glasses and phone next to the little lamp. Plugging the phone in to charge during the night, for Christ’s sake... Cozying in on this bed, while a person who’s _ asked _him to do so prepares extra pillows for him. For his comfort. 

_ Comfort! _ The one thing he can’t get used to, he’s not allowed to get used to, it’s unfamiliar and it will remain so, he’s sure of it. He’ll have to leave it anyway, he’ll have to step off of this magic carpet his brain’s been weaving behind his back, against his will. This road has still no name, it still doesn’t lead anywhere. Yet Viktor _ asks_, and Yuuri answers. 

But there has to be a line drawn. Others should have no illusions, he won’t stand for being a liar, not a chance, they should know, there’s a limit to what he can give. And it is breached, there, in the darkness after Viktor turns out the light and wriggles in under the covers, there, in the already awkward silence when he casually, naturally, without breaking the flow of his movements, without question, cuddles up to Yuuri’s healthier side. 

He gets stiff and tense and draws his shoulder in. It doesn’t feel wrong, yet it doesn’t feel right - there is only the void, the helpless rejection of the unknown. Viktor catches it of course, in a heartbeat, but not a single trace of it can be left uncertain. 

“I… thought you said _ just sleeping_...” 

“Oh.” Viktor lifts his hand immediately from his skin. “Of course, sorry.” He pushes himself away, respectfully over the middle line of the bed, and Yuuri feels absolutely miserable. 

But it _ is _too much. To ask and to give alike. Does Viktor not know that? Does he not realize he’ll only be disappointed? Doesn’t he get that he can’t possibly want this from Yuuri? 

The mumbled “good night” is probably the heaviest two words he’s ever heard in his life. He repeats them, not sure how he managed with the lump in his throat, and pretends to sleep; head turned away in shame, because, really, it’s indecision that’s killing him, the limbo of his own incompetence. That’s what it is, there’s not even a bit of a lie in there, he has no idea how to handle what Viktor’s initiated - intimacy? Jesus, he can’t even label it and sound convinced - because he’s never seen it before. 

Whatever this is that they are, it’s supposed to be… something with benefits. Okay, more like, just sex. Why would Viktor need anything more from a boy off the streets. It’s for his fun and Yuuri likes it too, so what the hell. 

_ And… _

Stop. 

Just _ sex, and_…

Stop! 

But there _ is _ sex _ and_...

For. the. sake. of your last one braincell, Yuuri, stop. Nonsense. 

This bullshit of a struggle goes on for who knows how long. Long enough that he already feels some phantom numbness creeping its way up from his toes; long enough that he gets an itch in the most random places that he cannot scratch because, duh, he’s sleeping. He must be already, because this is a nightmare, he can’t possibly keep this up, this is so stupid...

The covers ruffle next to him and he’s suddenly very aware that he’s supposed to be lying still, he’s aware of his own hand cradling his bruises, aware of his tongue, aware of the weight of his eyelids. 

Viktor leaves. 

Wait, what. 

He doesn’t see Viktor Nikiforov sit up, slip off of the sheets and walk out into the living room like a shadow; he doesn’t see Viktor Nikiforov open the balcony door and step out into the night. He doesn’t see Viktor Nikiforov trail over to the railing, staring into the distance, the always breathtaking city skyline meaning little to the blue eyes at the moment. 

But, senses and nerves on edge, he can hear all of it happening just as well. 

This isn’t what he… That’s not supposed t...

He can’t take the guilt anymore. 

With a painful sigh and the entire duvet wrapped around him, he cowers out, knowing full well that he’s marching into a disaster without having managed to defeat his own mind. Someone might as well help him try again. Someone might as well… have, but he refused. Shit. 

Barefoot on the cool tiles, dressed only by the pale moonlight over his briefs, leaning on (or holding onto?) the guard rail with his shoulders relaxed (or hunched?), Viktor looks like a perfect marble statue, with the perfect impressionist background painting of a neighborhood in indigo. And of course Yuuri hardly remembers why he of all people gets to see him like this.

He’s… no, of course he’s not marble. He moves; his hair is sticking up a little in the back. One of his joints cracks as he straightens when he notices Yuuri. His blue eyes look dark as he faces him with a soft confused expression. No, he’s not a statue. But fuck if he’s not perfect. Fuck, this is hopeless. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri whispers. That’s all he can muster. Even that disturbs the gracious velvet silence, but the world swiftly narrows down from the sleeping streets to their little bubble on alert. 

There’s more, there’s so much more, but the tears are stronger, they always are, god fucking damn them rolling down his cheek and interrupting. Even so, he registers Viktor stepping closer, and white-knuckles the duvet in front of him while the dull ache in his side does nothing to improve the situation. 

“Yuuri.” 

He’s so quiet and calm. The second Yuuri spoke, he understood why he was there, it’s audible in his troubled little sigh. Why can’t Yuuri be like him? Why can’t he surpass him at least in something… 

“Yuuri, please… please don’t apologize. I’m not hurt or…” 

“DON’T LIE!” 

It sounds like he’s yelling. It feels like he’s yelling. Well, and crying still. But he won’t take that bit of a bullshit. He might be insecure but he has some grasp of reality, for fuck’s sake, and he won’t let those blue eyes hide theirs. 

Viktor blinks double; his mouth opens and then closes, and then again a few times more. This is kind of an off-day for him, isn’t it? This doesn’t normally happen. Once again he seems shocked. _ Compromised_. Actually, it’s priceless. 

“You’re right, okay, it felt weird after... But I respect your decisions, hell,” he furrows his brows, appalled by the contrary. “You know you can say no to anything, righ…” 

“I know…” Yuuri interrupts, voice weak but will determined. “I know, I’m just… I’m not sure I’m making the right decisions! And I’m also afraid I… it’s always too late to take them back…” 

And Viktor’s shoulders relax, and he takes the last step to close the distance between them, and he’s smiling, concerned or apologetic or both, it’s hard to tell, and Yuuri sniffs and swallows but doesn’t feel the need to move. 

“I’m definitely not _ that _hurt. Yuuri, I wish...” Blue eyes, holding his gaze, his heart, the Moon and the world altogether, sincere like they’re holding onto something dear they are about to let go of. “I just wish to give you… whatever you’ll have of me.” 

It’s a balloon in his chest that grows, zero to a hundred real quick, but it doesn’t hurt, it just wants to burst. Like the answer that just falls from his tongue. 

“I wish to give to you too! Maybe… m-more than what I have, but I can always try, right? If you just stay by my side, I...” 

A kiss. 

Swift and soft, just on the lips, but a touch to remember for a lifetime; Viktor leans in and it’s the stupidest thing that people ever call it ‘stealing.’ Nothing is stolen, it’s a _ gift_. Yuuri’s face feels warm, even more so as a pair of night-cooled hands cradle him, his eyes closed, drying by the second. He's never been safer, the cover falling from his fragile frame straight to the floor. 

Holy shit. 

That’s all he thinks as their noses separate and he can look into the blue eyes again.

Then something else, as they widen in surprise. 

“Finally!” Viktor yells exactly when Yuuri does, and then, even more amused by their synchronous revelation, holding onto each other they both laugh; Yuuri, a little pained, and Viktor, a little nervous. 

He keeps shaking his head while looking over Yuuri from head to toe like there’s something ridiculously obvious in his existence that he’s just now discovered. 

“I… I’ve never kissed you before?!” He stammers in a comical outrage, seemingly at his own stupidity. “I mean... _ kiss_ed. I st… We haven’t... Ever?” 

The last memory of Yuuri’s tears are gone in a sniff when he smiles.

“No, not that I remember.” 

“My _ god _we have to make that right.” 

Viktor’s voice is serious, seriously deep, and this, this dramatic boy, this silver haired prince makes him want to laugh and cry and jump and fly and yeet himself into a spin like his stomach must have as it feels right now, and he’s on his toetips even before Viktor leans down again to help him with the height difference. 

Viktor stops, just a breath away from truth; if there is something he has to make sure of, Yuuri lets him. If there is something he wants to say, Yuuri listens. If there is something he’s waiting for, Yuuri assures him it’s already there. 

They move as one, this second that embodied a long run on the beach into each other’s arms now over. 

It’s tender, it’s slow, it’s everything to cherish and get out of bed for. Viktor’s lips taste as squishy from any angle as he’s imagined, his tongue makes him forget every word he’s ever formed with his own and gets him want to compose new ones to describe how he feels, impossible like coming up with a new color, and who wants to _ talk _when he can say all of it just like this, anyway. Just like… dancing. 

They put their foreheads together after. It’s just a minute, really, it will never feel longer than whatever it lasts for. Now the contentment tires Yuuri out, he could fall asleep here, feet cold but hands held warm, with the universe on the correct track again. The air is still, still like his mind. His whisper again disrupts the lull, but…

“You’re shaking.” 

Viktor chuckles, then sighs deep to gather himself. 

“Well, I am… _ shook_.” 

So is the duvet before they take it back inside. Yuuri cocoons in, lying on his good side, Viktor rests next to him in mirror. They both check that their fingers are intertwined before they drift off. Now they wouldn’t have it any other way. 

  
  
  
  
  


Yuuri starts training again like never before. He waits to fully heal, of course, he’s serious about getting better than ever - and his loved ones keep him hostage until he’s recovered (No, seriously. Almost in cuffs.) - but dancing calls him like they’re running out of time on this earth, like that _ pull _ will mean nothing tomorrow. There are things of course he cannot dance around. First he tells his family about the accident and accepts all the help they offer; money for physiotherapy, mostly, then any strings they can pull at doctors, but also his sister's tease-pampering when she visits. It's a bit of a hassle and embarrassment, but it's selfless; and it feels good not to keep them in the dark. To let them in. The easier it gets, the more the promise solidifies in his heart: he will repay them, he _ will _make them proud. 

And so, he heads to the park. 

Practice is a pain in the ass - and the flank - at the beginning, he can't exactly pick up where he left off. Gravity greets him begrudged, she holds his hand but too firm, she sets more rules on directions _ and _steps on his feet more times than it’s funny. Slowly, over time, and time, and more time, she's pleased with his hard work to rebounce; the tips increase once again in his hat strategically placed in front of him. All of it gets spent on a lesson or two from Minako. 

The best thing? Viktor joins him on the running track. 

It always starts and ends the same. Viktor is a cheeky bastard, so he uses the advantage given by his longer legs and speeds up on the first mile. Yuuri takes the bait and _ keeps _the pace, only to have a red faced, heaving mess next to him at the end of the line. Viktor aaalways forgets about Yuuri’s stamina, but also always smiles when he’s proven wrong about winning. Like, even if he's not first, he can take it all. 

He usually does, too. Yuuri's hugs, kisses, (blanket, sweater,) breath, time, everything. They're all his, anyway, freely and willingly given, because Yuuri realizes that he _ can_. Rejection is a foreign concept from Viktor's side, and though this remains hard to believe, Yuuri at least sort of familiarizes with the way they just… are. 

Happy. Right? Something like that, yes. 

If he lags behind, Viktor will encourage him to just keep at it and he’ll still get to the end. If he hurries ahead, Viktor will follow, he knows that by now. 

“Race to the next marker?” he shoots up the challenge like it’s nothing. They’re spent for the day anyway, a sprint for last effort would be fun, he thinks. He’s also cheating, by speeding up already. And by knowing full well Viktor has no chance but will still try. _ Fun_. 

“You’re on!” Viktor indeed yells after him, and they rush like children past the line of trees, past the other runners, past worries and questions, on burning calves of freedom. 

Until there is a road ahead.

“Yuuri!” 

It cuts the park in half, some of the lights have gone out but they’ve crossed it many times. 

“Yuuri, stop!” 

There are no cars in sight, maybe just a beerbike, although strollers in the dusk pose a much bigger danger. Why does Viktor sound so scared? He slows down and turns around to check...

The impact knocks the air out of his lungs. 

“Gotcha!!!” 

Viktor crashes into him so hard they almost fall over. He’s laughing as they stumble to a halt with the embrace, finally stepping back and just holding Yuuri’s shoulders. His heaving eases into relieved sighs, as if Yuuri could have been running _ away_, and his hands are shaking, more so than they should be after exercising his legs. This goofball, this goddamn magician dons a smile that could bring the Sun back up, but it’s so fake, it’s ridiculous. 

“I win! I didn’t think you would actually stop…”

“What’s wrong?” 

He catches the soft what the fuck in Viktor’s double blink. The cheer is gone, especially as he glances at the dark crosswalk. Yuuri sometimes hates that while he’s not missing anything, he’s still missing _ a point_. 

Cold winds bring promise of the night closing in, help brush the silver locks away from covering the young face. Masks peel away, one by one, how do they say, there’s a battle, and this child is lost, but so keen to be honest. Viktor visibly stops himself from building more walls. Hovers. 

“Tell me whenever you’re ready,” he takes one of his wrists, and Viktor watches the movement, curling his fingers over Yuuri’s.

Struggling, but he’s right, he’s won. He’s _ tried_. 

“I can’t right now.” 

“That’s okay,” Yuuri nods, and finally Viktor looks back at him. 

Blue eyes. Serious. 

There’s not a slightest tremor left in his hands when he holds Yuuri’s face for a kiss, and he knows it’s a thank you. He knows Viktor’s heart is on his sleeve now, and he knows, deep in his own, he would do anything to protect it. 

  
  
  
  
  


He turns a page in the old, yellowing book. The soft puddle of a man next to him rolls onto his side, waking with a yawn. 

"Morning, Nick." 

Viktor freezes mid-eye-rub. 

"Jesus fucking… Christ," he rumbles and yawns again. "For a moment... I really didn't know what you were on about, _ Ross_." 

Yuuri grins when he gets a kiss on his shoulder. Viktor snakes his arm around his and snuggles up close, making his hairs tickle with every exhale.

“Are you okay?” 

The blue eyes open again, but look away. Contemplative. 

“What are you reading?”

No answer means… a plea. Okay, good. There's no rush. Well, okay, there’s a bit of a lie, Yuuri’s really curious, but he knows, he knows this won’t turn over in a day. Slower now, kinder. 

“The Iliad.” 

The sun has been up long enough that he’s started wondering why Viktor’s been still asleep, and long enough that he’s browsed the shelves for the few dozenth time in awe. Not even half of the books in Viktor’s flat are about Physics. Those have a corner, of course, close to his desk he usually works at sketching class plans and correcting tests, but otherwise it’s as if he were an artist or writer of some sort. He has more collections of poems than exercise books, and he definitely has a soft spot for history and music. 

“What’s the point of knowing nature’s laws,” he had said when Yuuri had once finally asked. “If there’s nothing you’d want to break them for?” 

He smiled at the memory and grabbed the one book he’d always meant to finish but somehow never got to. It’s as beautiful a Saturday as any to spend with some cuddles and hexameters.

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Ooh I’ve always hated it. You know, this might be the one thing that made me go, okay, I’ll choose science instead.” 

Yuuri goes along with the sidetrack now without having to make an effort. This is interesting. 

“Pff, what, why?” 

“I mean, Patroclus dies, _ come on_.” 

He gasps, long and surprised - the book closes when Yuuri lets go of it, and Viktor raises his head in confusion. They stare at each other, Viktor’s brows drawing closer and closer to each other. 

“S-spoilers!” Yuuri squeaks, mouth still hanging open as guilt washes over Viktor’s face. 

“Wait, what… You really didn’t know?!” 

He holds it. With iron claws. Eye contact, straight face, everything. He holds it until he can’t. The moment his charade is broken with a snicker, he’s hit by a pillow in the head. It’s like Viktor knows him so well, he’s been preparing for it. 

“Bastard!” Another hit, and Yuuri keeps laughing. “I almost fell for it!” Another one, and Yuuri hides under the blanket. “How could you!” Another hit of which he feels basically nothing, it’s so soft. “Hey, come out!” 

“Fine, okay, I’m gay,” Yuuri giggles, bracing for the next impact nonetheless.

But then, Viktor crawls in under the cover and straight up straddles him. He leans over Yuuri, his blue eyes obscenely suggestive. The mood shifts, so does the world, maybe. 

His voice is low. 

“You’re telling me this now?” 

Yuuri’s smile is wiped away with that kiss, and it’s past noon and neither of them cares. When the book falls off the bed, they don’t hear it - their only grudge with the laws of physics is that they can't pull each other _closer_. 

  
  
  
  
  


“What are you up to?” Viktor asks him when he steps out from the bathroom, half dressed and a towel thrown on his back. It’s Monday morning, yes, well, pretty unusual for Yuuri to be up and at… anything, but his basic instinct to be less annoying has just kicked in with the first ray of sunshine.

There is… _ stuff _ everywhere. His stuff, to be precise. It's not like the room is messy, but it's definitely more _ occupied _ than when Yuuri first walked in. He's tidied up on the bedside table, only his charger and some tissues remaining. He's put his flip-flops in their right place, unable to remember when they got under the heater. He's hung Viktor's bathrobe on the edge of the open door, put on some clean - okay, clean_er _ \- clothes, and now it's time to gather them all. He's had a designated chair for them since that first day, and, sadly, has fallen into the comfortable laziness of just piling them on it, even leaving some items from time to time. They have mostly been hoodies and shirts, some he doesn’t always need when he leaves, some he exchanges for his training gear because those are actually less crumpled, and he isn’t always in the mood to take them with him. There has only ever been one extra pair of underwear, though, clean in his bag. He could never borrow any from Viktor, his are… just a size too small for Yuuri’s hind. 

He folds the next shirt in four. 

“Oh, I just need to take these to the laundromat.” 

“Ah. You looked like you were packing up for some reason.” 

There is a tiny, nervous quiver in Viktor’s chuckle that sounds more like a relieved sigh. 

What the fuck? 

Yuuri tries, but he doesn’t exactly know what to do with that information at the asscrack of 7:30. He resists the urge to shake his head when the image of gears turning in it obtrudes. 

“You know, I have a washing machine, too, though… You can use that.” 

Viktor stands there, ruffling his fair locks in attempt to dry them faster, looking expectantly at Yuuri to accept something from him yet again, yet again, yet again. This one time, however, he finally has his refusal ready.

“I’m using enough of your hospitality,” he smiles, most polite, and hauls a pile of clothes into a plastic bag. 

It’s not easy, it never has been. He tries, time and time again, to bail out of whatever Viktor wants to give him, buy him, spare for him. He’s not here for that. He’s here for… Yeaah, what exactly? 

Easy to assume, hard to really tell. It’s better to just check a list of things he can’t deny. Like how he sort of hates the days they spend apart. Like how he sort of loves how Mari keeps grilling him about what they do together and what Viktor is like. Like how he’s sort of… imagined what it would be like to introduce him to his mother’s katsudon. Wow, wow, okay, hold it there now, Satan, that’s a _ big _jump ahead just yet. 

“Okay.” Suddenly, Viktor draws a sharp breath and throws the towel on the bed. “Wait here.” He storms out, tap-tap-taps of his bare feet signaling his path, and he’s back before Yuuri can think of anything else to do than let go of his socks. “I wanted to do this for some time now, so, there you go.” 

Viktor walks up to him, takes his hand and puts something cold in it. 

It’s small, round, metally, but there’s also plastic, and a set of shanks that clink together. 

Yuuri frowns, nonplussed. 

“These are your keys.” 

Viktor bites his lips but smiles wide anyway, as if there’s a double layer joke in there somewhere that’s not worth hiding but rude to laugh at. What the fuck.

“I’ll give you a minute.” 

Blue eyes. Amused, for a moment, but when that fades, they turn just desperate with hope. 

“You…” 

It sinks in, slowly, reluctantly, Yuuri’s doubts kicking and screaming in his head. He stares at the keys in his open hand. The keys to Viktor’s home. This can’t be true, is all that rings in his ears. It’s a nice gesture and all, but there has to be some kind of mistake, misunderstanding, because in what kind of alternate universe… 

“This… I...” 

Viktor clears his throat, still holding Yuuri’s now trembling hand, caressing it with his thumb. 

“We’re uhm, together,” he speaks unusually slow. “More or less. More like… more. Ri- do I see it right? So you might as well have these… You spend so much time anyway, I… aw, Y_uu_ri...” 

His next breath is a sob, there’s no better way to say it, he starts bawling like no tomorrow, and Viktor is there, ready and eager to embrace him. Yuuri buries his face in Viktor’s chest, so soft and strong at the same time, just like Yuuri feels inside; he would probably collapse if Viktor let him go right now, but then again, never has he ever been so… validated. 

Warm and safe and welcome. Any day, any time, as it seems. But how? How can it be that he's accepted here as if he were… coming home? What a weird concept… 

He cries, and each bubbly breath is like resurfacing from underwater, while Viktor holds him together, steady as time. 

"Thank you," he eventually manages, squeezing the keys into his palm, careful not to hurt Viktor's bare skin where he's holding onto him. He sniffs, and Viktor steps back only just so to look at him again. 

"You don't have to run and move in right away," he says, raising a hand to cup Yuuri's face and wipe away tears that haven't ended up on his own skin. "Just know… you're free to come and go as you like. My place is your place. Okay?" 

He nods, unable to speak. They really are the kindest pair of blue eyes he's ever seen. Viktor holds his face with both hands and plants a kiss on his forehead, tilting the universe onto its best track. Yuuri smiles and rubs at his eyes, then hears a deep, deep sigh. 

He looks up, just when Viktor does, too. 

"I'm sorry for being a hypocrite."

"What…?" 

"I need to be honest with you. I haven't been fair." 

Viktor takes his hand again and sits them down on the bed. He doesn't hesitate or take a deep breath, he just starts. 

"I have nightmares and flashbacks about the car accident." 

Yuuri stares at him, at the raw, young face, remembering, opening up about something so repressed as if it has already been forgotten once or twice. 

"I told you about my knee injury? I told you it caused my family a lot of... trouble. I got it from there, it wasn’t a sports event or practice. I’m…" Now Viktor sighs again, searching for words. "I was wrong, I didn't think anybody needed to know? But you do." 

This day has definitely got off on a roller coaster. 

You know, the kind you know will make your stomach do flips and you still get on it because it’s so _ good_. The kind you hold onto for dear life, white-knuckling the fabric of the very thing that takes you upside down and shakes your core. And for your soul you would do it again if someone like that sits next to you. 

Yuuri _ thinks _he’s seen some shit, but Viktor Nikiforov becoming strong like that in front of him is something else. 

He squeezes the hand in his own, embracing every single twist and turn of the ride. 

“Tell me everything you want to. Everything you need to. Always. Okay?” Viktor nods and wants to answer, but Yuuri goes on after a frowny smile at the clock. “When you get home.” 

“Ahh, shit...” 

Viktor jumps and rushes to get ready for school, fully aware that nothing he could teach that day is going to top the lesson he’s just learnt. 

He’s going to be late already, yet, just about to step out, he runs back to where Yuuri’s loading the washing machine.

He’s physically unable to leave without kissing him goodbye. 

The corrected essays on his desk remain, jealous. 

  
  
  
  
  


“The sin of reserving your talents all for Viktor is grave, you know that?” 

The remark is not a surprise at all, nor is the place it comes from. Since he and Viktor have practically become regulars at _ that _club, they’ve made friends with a particularly blond bartender. It was inevitable, since he’s almost gotten himself fired for challenging Yuuri to a dance-off at the pole one too many times. 

“Chris! Hi,” Yuuri politely takes out his earset, and sits up a little stiffer when the tall man flops down next to him on the bench. Too close. As always. 

It’s a windy afternoon, clouds coming and going; the air, unbothered by any sign of a storm brewing, is filled with children’s laughter. Christophe starts to chit-chat as they wait in the schoolyard for their respective… well…

Yuuri’s been lamenting over labels for some time now. It’s never come up between Viktor and him since that day at Yakov’s, and it’s like they’ve decided, without words, that it wasn’t worth sweating over. He’s never been too fond of the phrases ‘boyfriend’ or ‘partner.’ Even ‘significant other’ sounds weird, too, and pet names are not really their thing as it seems. He can’t really define his feelings for Viktor. Or maybe he just doesn’t dare to voice them. What if he says it too soon, what if no matter when he says it, it’s ruined then and there, what if it’s a mistake and he scares Viktor off and… 

“Hm?” 

“Hm?” 

“Where is your mind, Yuuri?” Christophe giggles. “I said, have you submitted your application yet?” 

“Sorry... No, it’s, uh, not really the time yet, still no openings for a few months…” 

“Mon Chéri!” 

Matt appears at the front door - Viktor once invited a few of his colleagues to party, and as soon as Matt, meet my favorite cocktail mixer, Christophe, meet my even taller and French teacher friend happened, they lost the two of them for the night, probably for the century - and the topic is dropped. Yuuri genuinely amuses himself with the thought that after so many years, he still gets to be saved by the bell. Nice. 

They say goodbye and he watches them go, hand in hand, free like a pair of birds. Even with their constant, obscenely flirty manners, they always look to be at peace. Yuuri smiles when different voices hit his ear. 

“Yuri, I told you, if you could just please be more active in group projects...” 

“_Mehh_, quit nagging me old man. _ I _ told _ you_, they hold me back.” 

Viktor smiles wide and waves when he sees Yuuri standing up, and heads over to his bench with a very grumpy and seemingly bored to death teen following him. 

“How about leading them if you’re so number one, hm?”

“Ugghh, just give me more homework, geez…” 

“This isn’t about punishment. I know for a fact many of them would like to make friends with you.” 

“I have a friend.” 

“_He_’ll graduate soon.” 

“I’m painfully aware, thanks, that’s real comforting,” he shoves his hands in the pockets of his animal print jacket. “How are you even a teacher.” 

“Hi Yuuri!” 

A greeting, a smile too forced after that roast, and a kiss on the cheek. Yuuri says his weak hi under the viciously annoyed glare of a 10th grader.

“_Yeeh_. Who’s this?” 

Viktor glances at Yuuri, and the blue eyes sparkle with mischief, the kind Yuuri would trust his life with. He silently waits to see how Viktor handles this. The kid seems too smart, his nonstop scowl an actual mood that could sometimes represent Yuuri’s feelings about the world. 

“It’s a secret, right, Yuuri?,” Viktor tells, real innocent.

“Pff. He waited for you and you kissed, it’s not much of a secret. And _ Yuri _ is _ my name _ by the way so just call him your boyfriend or whatever.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

_ Yuri _looks absolutely affronted by his perfect logic getting rebuffed, even more so than that his impertinent behavior is professionally overlooked. He rolls his eyes so theatrically, Yuuri has to bite his tongue to remain the adult here and not laugh.

“Then. _ What_.” 

Viktor is not looking at his student anymore. He reaches out for Yuuri’s hand, and answers the question gazing deep into his eyes. 

“He’s my life and love.” 

What. 

The. 

_ F u c k _. 

"Gross. I shouldn't have asked."

Grandpa Plisetsky arrives, they boy leaves just as disrespectful as he’s been speaking, Viktor smiles just as cheerful as if that's an okay level of relationship to have with a student, and Yuuri is just… 

Just what the fuck. What the fuck, did he just… 

Viktor squeezes his hand, and Yuuri fights for his vision to clear, but if anything, it only gets more blurry. His face feels hot, burning, he has to say something, he has to get air… 

"Yuuri? Is everything…" 

"You…" That's not quite alright. He swallows. "You…" But he _ can't_, nothing else is coming out of his mouth. The blue eyes wait and wait and they may be disappointed but Yuuri just crashes into him, throwing his arms around Viktor's waist and pulling him, closer, until he can't breathe and maybe Viktor can't either, but this is a necessary evil they just have to suffer through. 

He feels, however, Viktor hugging him back tight, and there is nothing, nothing he would exchange for this. He grabs Viktor's jacket under his backpack, ignoring the utter dread sneaking up on his nape. It must be just the unreasonable spike of emotions, that's all. 

They’ve promised Phichit they’d help pack his costumes at the theater that night - meaning, Yuuri promised and was unable to talk Viktor out of joining him; and meaning, Phichit’s had the ulterior motive to sneak his friend close to the show biz for a long time now, and this has been the only way Yuuri could not refuse out of the goodness of his heart. 

Viktor must remember this time, because he just kisses Yuuri’s hair and prompts them to get going. Yuuri laces their fingers together as they walk, and a shiver runs down his spine when he sees Viktor Nikiforov blush. It makes his heart heavier somehow.

  
  
  
  
  


He spends the night at Phichit’s, a rare occasion these days. It soon turns into a two-person pyjama party with some beer, a lot of gossip, and a trash movie on. 

Yet staring at the screen, stuffing his mouth with popcorn, he can’t stop his feelings shutting down instead of his brain.

He just has to tell he truth, that’s all. 

  
  
  
  
  


Sunday afternoons are funny after being awake for 36 hours. 

Or maybe it’s just because this is the hardest thing he’s ever done. But he knows he has to. He’s cold, not calm - the little plashes of the fountain numb him as he sits on the marble lip. The sun is going down, the park will soon be empty. Hands in his pockets, eyes tired and stingy, Yuuri waits. He got here an hour too early as if that helped getting over it any faster. 

A greeting, a smile, a sweet, fleeting caress on his face.

He doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t want to. He mustn’t. 

Prepared as he’ll ever be, he finally looks up when Viktor nags him, pouting and bumping his knee into his, what’s wrong. 

“So I’ve been… thinking about us.” 

“_Us_?” Viktor smiles, a sudden hundreds of layers of masks on. “I like how that sounds!” 

He’s scared out of his wits, there’s no mistaking it. It’s okay now, it won’t take long. Yuuri’s determined to dissolve all his fears. 

“I think… let’s end this.” 

Viktor tilts his head to the side, holding onto the smile like dear life. It’s visibly faker and fainter by the second, but Yuuri can’t have any ambiguity. 

“We should stop seeing each other.” 

“What?” 

It’s out there, but it… doesn’t feel any better. He didn’t expect it to be easy but… now he has to explain it all…? 

“I just…” He’s stuttering now, nails digging into his own skin where his hands roll into fists. “I don’t think we should keep doing this. Thank you for everything up to now, I…” 

“Yuuri, what… what are you _ talking _about?!” 

The cracking voice, the wind Viktor’s long coat stirs as he stands up, draw Yuuri’s eyes to the blue ones and… 

Terrified? No. They are _ devastated_. 

He has to make him understand. 

“I just don’t want to waste any more of your time, Vi…” 

“What the hell makes you think that you are?!” 

Yuuri stands up too, all the anxious energy restlessly building up. 

“Viktor, please. It’s better this way, you…” 

“What, you just decided that on your own, is that it?!” 

Viktor is... crying. 

What the fuck? 

Tears are rolling down his face, and he just stands there, helpless. He doesn’t do anything when his finer hairs get caught in the little streams. 

It’s not a roller coaster, this is a trainwreck, and Yuuri doesn’t know how to salvage it.

“You deserve better.” 

“I dese… How can you say that after everything… I _ deserve _ not to be hurt by such bullshit excuses!” 

Viktor is almost shouting now, but his voice keeps breaking, like his masks, like his… 

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make you mad…” 

“What am I supposed to be, Yuuri?! I thought you wanted me!” 

Like his heart. 

Yuuri controls his breathing. This pressure is an old friend. It will pass, he just has to pull through. It’s inevitable. Here’s the perfect opportunity to break one last thing - Viktor's shackles. 

“I don’t... want to be with you anymore.” 

He and Viktor, them, it, whatever this is… was… was so very good. But there’s not even a single bit of a lie in there. _ His life_. No way. He can’t possibly keep up being such a huge burden to Viktor. 

Blue eyes. Specks of green, oceans of pain. It’s okay. Pain is temporary. He’ll be okay, Yuuri tells himself and believes it… 

“Good luck.” 

This sad smile is not a mask. It’s a slap of a brick wall. 

Viktor walks away first, in the other direction. 

The automatic street lamps turn on, and Yuuri shivers.

  
  
  
  
  


He doesn’t see Viktor Nikiforov cry on the tram. He doesn’t see Viktor Nikiforov being asked by strangers if he’s okay. He doesn’t see Viktor Nikiforov hold his phone from time to time, finger hovering over the call button, just to convince himself not to do it. He doesn’t see Viktor Nikiforov wake up in the middle of the night, searching the bed for a person next to him, until his gasps turn into sobs. He doesn’t see Viktor Nikiforov skip some classes because he’s too hungover to be teaching. He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he can’t. He literally can’t, they’re miles away from each other. Life goes on. For the best. 

Every now and then he catches glimpses, however. Blue eyes. In the middle of a jackhammer, or a 2000, or when bowing and wrapping it up for the day. He sees a tall man in a beanie who sometimes turns out to be someone else, sometimes just disappears before he could take another look, and sometimes, well… he really isn’t sure if it’s not just an illusion. 

But Yuuri keeps dancing. He wakes up, starts practicing, then goes out to earn his living. He eats something, helps Phichit, then goes to sleep, repeat. Another morning, another corner, chores and dreams, repeat. Some new music, a cup of tea (he can’t look at coffee), a call from his mother, repeat. 

Weeks pass before his friend drops the question, then the kitchen towel he’s been holding, to the reason why Yuuri’s been spending so much of his free time at home lately. 

“Yuuri... you are one stubborn son of a bitch!” 

Sitting on the counter, Yuuri sighs. He can’t react to Phichit’s outrage. He just can’t. Phichit doesn’t understand, yet he goes on, angry like he has the right… 

“You’re hurting him!” 

… and that makes Yuuri snap. 

“Did you listen to a word I said?!” 

“Yeah!” Phichit stands his glare, fierce as only he can be. “You’re the only one not hearing yourself!” 

“Okay, that’s enough.” 

Nonsense. Yuuri jumps to his feet and tries to flee to his room, avoiding his friend, but a hand on his chest stops him. Phichit cuts in on his steps, stands right in front of him and goddamnit he’s stronger than he looks. He’s stronger than Yuuri’s belief in himself, that’s for sure. 

“No, you! are! enough!” 

He almost shouts in his face. Too close. Too decisive. Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw. But he can’t escape the criticism. The truth. It’s always too much of him, isn’t it? If he tries to hold on to someone or something, they always tell him, okay, that’s enough of you. Like the end of an audition, _ thank you, that will be enough_. But Phichit doesn’t stop there. 

“You are enough! _ Enough _ to be loved! When will you learn! When will you learn that your actions have consequences?! Like, people finding out that you’re amazing! Like senpai noticing you and saying hey, I want exactly that! Like your parents being proud of you! Like, there’s me, you’re making me desperate to find out when you’ll be able to join my show! And...” 

Yuuri steps back. 

How do you make yourself smaller? When that deep, gut wrenching shame floods you and makes every square inch of your skin feel dirty? How do you disappear? How do you just make everyone happy again, please, god, how do you just unmake the world you messed up so bad… 

His shoulders hunch forward, his knees are about to buckle. He needs to sit down or he'll collapse in the next five seconds. He manages to lean onto the table. 

“… not to bully you into a relationship you don’t want… But you clearly did that because you think you’re somehow… less, and that’s, that’s just not true, Yuuri. You hear me? I’ve never seen you so happy and focused, I mean…” 

"I fucked up." 

"You did."

"I thought…"

"You didn't."

Yuuri grits his teeth so hard it hurts his jaw. 

"But you can always do _ something_."

  
  
  
  
  


He gets bored, that's what he does. 

Sick and tired of being beat down, defeated by his own mind. Disgusted by the thought of Phichit having to be his chaperone. Mortified by the possibility of wasting time. 

He starts volunteering in a homeless shelter, and asks, one last time, for his friend's patience, this time setting a deadline. 

  
  
  
  
  


Months roll away, months, and Yuuri has lost count. Of how many times he's walked along this street, of how many hours he's spent thinking, lamenting, agonizing over his decision, of how many coffees he said no to simply because his heart rate has been high enough, thank you very much. 

There is just no better time to do it. 

He's standing in front of a ten-story building, his hands like ice, he's been holding an envelope in them for so long. The mailbox is centimeters away. 

He sighs, a cloud of mist says hello to the fuck you temperature winter air. He'd best not catch a cold during the next week or two. 

Who knew paper could be so heavy. Well, okay, it’s the guilt. Guilt is heavy, so he chooses not to take it anymore. 

Time to _ let go_. 

The tickets land inside the metal box and it feels like someone has simultaneously loaded his chest with rocks. 

He flees from the scene of the crime, and only calms down at the ballet studio.

  
  
  
  
  


Creaky wooden floor. 

Red curtains. 

Dozens of rows of seats and some balconies, too. 

Lights. 

Gravity fills this place with people. Oh, she’s always there, a tireless company. Everybody knows her challenging pull, everybody struggles with defying her strength from time to time. She’s actually a lover but her touch goes uncredited, her help in art, unnoticed. They just don’t think about it like that. They forget. They _ want _to forget, for some long moments, that the world exists, so they come to watch others dance with her, and call it entertainment.

Good thing that’s what Yuuri does. Entertain. 

In about an hour, that is. 

Set choreography, simple costume; he'll dance in the background, doing the same as a group of others. He's basically a prop, but at this point he genuinely can't make a sad joke about that - it's the greatest start he could ever ask for. He takes the clothes off the shelf from the pile and unfolds them, getting ready as his peers also arrive, excited chitchat filling the dressing room. 

It's his first show, and it feels like his stomach has been doing flips since the beginning of the century. Oh it's not stagefright. He's used to being seen, he knows he's good, he's been accepted here after all, and this small role really only requires his most basic skills. It's that… he knows who he's dancing for. 

The problem is the vice versa. 

_ Fuuuuuck_. 

Why did you have to invite him like that, it was a stupid idea, why didn't you say something more, genius move, he won't come anyway, no, maybe he'll come and laugh, no, he threw out the tickets, no, maybe it was the wrong mailbox, no, he hates you anyway, no, you should have just talked, no, you shouldn't have fucked up in the first place, no, no, no, no… 

"--uri." 

"Wha--!" The firm grip on his shoulder has him jump, literally, and out of his thought stream, too. But it's just Altin, a young, diligent new PA who doesn't actually look that scary if you get to know him a little. "God, sorry…" 

"Someone's looking for you." 

"What? Who?" 

Otabek simply signals for the door with his thumb, and Yuuri walks out. 

The hallway is full of people, as always. Assistants, technicians, designers, dancers, actors, singers are all still milling in, or hurrying from one room to the other. Everybody looks like they are looking for something, none of them, though, for a random backup. He has to go all the way to the back exit to… Oh fuck. 

He’s been waiting for this, hasn’t he? He thinks, this, this is why he’s here. This, this man… Yuuri reached out and he came back again, there are only so many coincidences in life you can overlook. 

It’s the weight of it that’s unexpected, that incredible, crushing force on his chest as if he were pushed just now. Blue eyes search his face for something, anything that’s true. 

“Hi.” A greeting, a small smile. All the time in the world offered to him to make the next step. 

“Hi…” Yuuri can only whisper, and he has to swallow on his dry throat. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in here, I just wanted to thank you for the tickets…” 

What the f...

“You came.” 

Viktor all but says _ duh_, judging from his incredulous chuckle.

“You invited me, yes.” 

Hey, Yuuri has every right not to believe he wants to see him at all, after what he did, thank you very much. Viktor’s standing there like the answer is obvious…? It’s not, it never has been, at least for hi… Wait. Is there a bit of a… has he been lying to himself? 

Fuck, why does he always have to start crying. Once in his life he would really like to figure that out. 

“I’m sorry, Yuuri… I didn’t mean to upset you, I…” 

Maybe he’s on the right path. 

“No, no, I’m fine, just…” Questions, doubts, fears, they all go. He blinks and looks up into the blue eyes. “Just h-happy you’re here.” 

Viktor takes a deep breath like his life depends on it, and then...

“Okay, come here.”

... hugs him tight. 

Guard down, pride nonexistent, just the absolute peace in Viktor’s arms where he fits perfectly. And Viktor keeps giving, and giving, so humble and kind, and it’s a conscious choice that Yuuri might as well just accept. Stop questioning Viktor’s life choices. Stop lamenting over what this is, because it just is. 

“I’m so sorry…” he sobs into that three piece suit, melting into the remedy. “I’m so sorry…” 

“I forgive you, Yuuri,” he hears next to his ear. “I do, honestly. Do you understand?” 

“I’m an idiot,” Yuuri mumbles in reply as Viktor gently rocks them side to side to calm him down. It’s actually really comfy.

Viktor lets out a huge sigh, and moves back to hold his face. 

“I know,” he smiles so wide, so relieved, it’s worth living for. “You know what? Go out there, and show what you wanted me to see. I won’t take my eyes off of you.” 

And right here, right now, his sense of mission, this inspiration takes its rightful place in the puzzle of his mind. Everything will be alright. Even if… 

Viktor's phone buzzes in his pocket, and he instantly frowns, letting Yuuri go. 

"Excuse me, it must be…" He takes it out, the look on his face getting ever darker. "It's Yakov… He only calls when it's an emergency…" 

So what the fuck are you hesitating for? 

"Well? Pick it up!" 

Viktor touches the screen and listens, distress visibly growing in his eyes. It's only a minute and he barely says a thing, but Yuuri's not an idiot and he knows what this means. He's also not deaf. 

They stare at each other after Viktor hangs up. He pinches his nose in frustration, flops his bangs back from his forehead. 

"What are you doing?" Yuuri looks at him in utter confusion. It doesn't make sense that he's not moving, not hurrying to get to the vet. From what he heard from the speaker, Makka got herself in serious trouble this time. "You have to go, now!" 

"But… I just got here, and your play…" 

Seriously, what the fuck. 

"Viktor." He grabs his hand still holding the phone with both of his own, and gathers the most sincere voice he can muster. "I'll be on that stage a thousand times, you have one dog."

"You're…"

If Viktor wants to argue, it's not happening. Yuuri let's go of his hands and basically pushes him out the door. 

"I'll see you after, just go!" 

"We'll talk!" It's more like a question, but even more like a stupid question. 

"Yes, go!!!" 

  
  
  
  
  


He’s never cried before a performance until now. He’s gone home many times feeling like a failure from the streets. He’s shed some tears from exertion after rehearsals, thinking maybe he’s still not good enough. But Sleeping Beauty - A Mashup on Stage receives a standing ovation on premier night, and while there’s no real guarantee he won’t cry any more that day, as he helps the staff cleaning the cloakrooms, contentment settles in his heart. 

By the time he’s finished packing, almost everyone has left. Mr. Feltsman never arrived, obviously - he should have, as it had turned out, he’s head director at the theater, and he’d known Yuuri’s name because Minako wouldn’t shut up about this stage in need of his talents. Hah, figures. Even Phichit has gone, who had been frantic about an afterparty and wasn’t going to let him miss it for the world until Yuuri told him he would actually be doing exactly that. He promised to fill him in on everything after listening to Phichit’s happy-proud squeals. 

The back exit door closes behind him as he steps out into the cool air. The night is quiet, a touchable serenity that has come here to stay.

Barking? 

His head snaps in the street corner’s direction and - and there he is. Yuuri will learn not to be surprised by that. One day, but anyway.

His feet take him before he knows it, and Viktor is running, too, Makka on his heels with ears flapping, healthy as can be. Yuuri’s back home in Viktor’s arms, no matter where they go from here now. 

“I snuck in, to watch the end,” Viktor confesses, making Yuuri chuckle into his scarf. “Y_uu_ri, I wish to see you dance a thousand times.” 

He squeezes Viktor, hard, then kicks his exhaustion in the ass, and lifts him into the air, Viktor’s “wow!”s echoing Makkachin’s gentle woofs. He only raises his head from his shoulder when they hear a little honk from a nearby car. 

“Oh.” Realizing there have actually been four people waiting for him after the show, he suddenly feels embarrassed. He waves back at his sister, avoiding everyone’s eye contact. “So uhm… Would you like to meet my parents? You can say n…”

“Yes! Absolutely!” 

Somehow, somehow instead of feeling awkward, he finds it oddly satisfying that he’s in for the longest family dinner, after which he won’t be able to say any nasty words in Japanese without Viktor knowing what they mean. 

  
  
  
  
  


He spins, he floats, he holds out fours for little breaks. He swipes, he cancels, throws in some jackhammers. The real attraction is the Taisuke’s, it’s been some time since he’s danced in the park, some frequent visitors have already started to miss his moves. While theater is a wish come true, it’s nice to be closer to nature and practice something freestyle every once in a while. 

He’s stopped doing this for the money - well, that’s a bit of a lie, you see, everything he gets goes straight to the homeless shelter’s fund. He doesn’t need charity anymore, but people like seeing his duets with Gravity, so it’s just as well he turned this habit into something useful. 

Every now and then he catches glimpses of the blue eyes in the little crowd, ever watchful and proud. His relentless partner never disappears; secretly, he’s always laughing at the amazed faces he makes. He really isn’t sure if all of it isn’t just a dream, but whatever it is, he’s living it. Happy. Oh yes, something like that. 

He takes a bow, show’s over for today. He welcomes the applause, then people disperse while he drinks, but he’s not left alone. He never has been, actually, he knows that now, but you know. Feels good to turn around from zipping his bag, and to see a familiar, slender guy holding his hat for him to take. 

A huge, endeared smile, an act of kindness. A pair of blue eyes so bright it’s a true wonder. 

It’s not that he’s used to this, no. He welcomes it anew every day, every occasion Viktor does something for him, no matter how small. But this time that’s a bit of a lie because he’s been expecting him to pick up the coins. He swallows as he steps closer, their eye contact never breaks. 

“I… think you should check it first.” 

Viktor won't lower his hand, some kind of mischief - and mistrust - tilting his head to the side. 

"I'm pretty sure _ you _ should."

"Okay." Yuuri plays it as cool as he can. "Together, then?" 

"I'm ready."

Viktor holds up the hat with one hand, and waits for Yuuri - at a nod, they dig in at once, fingers brushing up to each other's, both finding something else, something odd and entirely not money-like at the bottom. 

Yuuri takes out a tiny, blue box. 

In Viktor's palm, there is a purple one, and he must be feeling just as what the fuck as Yuuri because he drops everything else and just stares at it with his jaw dropped. 

Yuuri comes back to his senses first. It may be absurd, but as it sinks in, slowly but surely, as he finally understands what happened, standing there and looking at his life and love, he has to laugh. 

"Well, I… " Holding up Viktor's hand he helps him open the lid of the box, then places his own next to it on the open palm. "I say yes," he smiles, feeling entitled to a little sass. "You?" 

Viktor sob-laughs, and his cheeks! His cheeks get rosy as if the Sun kissed them, but no, it's going to be Yuuri, only Yuuri, because it's a… 

"Yes. A thousand times yes."

  
  
  
  
  


Birds chirp on, the marble fountain cheerfully gurgles nearby. The evening air is gentle like now turned into forever. 

Tree leaves give way to the sneaky sunset, two golden bands twinkle in it. They warm up in their rightful place, never to go cold again. 


End file.
